


The Difficulties of Platonic Relationships

by Wuzzle98



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Bullying, Cheating, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Modern Thedas, Pining, Slow Burn, friends - Freeform, initial dislike, little bit smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-08 20:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wuzzle98/pseuds/Wuzzle98
Summary: Dorian hates Ferelden. It's backward, it smells like dog, and he misses his home. Also, he has to put up with Cullen Rutherford. It's no matter. He'll soon be back home in Tevinter, and he can forget the South. He hopes.





	1. Persistence Is Not A Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't stay away from Cullrian! If you've read Ball and Chain, welcome back! I promise this fic will be much nicer! And if you haven't read my works before, welcome!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Being the ‘new kid’ was something Dorian had always dreaded. He was used to it, the parade of schools he’d attended in Tevinter to thank for that, but that didn’t make it any less daunting. There was also a world of difference between Tevinter and Ferelden.  
Dorian tightened his tie, trying to ignore the stares of his peers. Though he was human, like the majority of the other students, he still stood out amongst them. He was dressed as they were, in the hideous blue-on-blue blazer and slacks, but he couldn’t hide the gold of his skin. His ink black hair, his posture, and his accent were like a neon sign, labelling him as ‘other’. He held his head high, ignoring the whisperings of the children around him. At least he could pull off the school uniform.  
He walked quickly towards his history lesson, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He was tempted to skip class- Mr Rainier had proven to be an endlessly boring teacher- but Dorian was determined to last at least a semester without getting in trouble, lest he be forced to move to yet another school. It would be a challenge, but he preferred not to draw any more attention to himself than he already had.  
Dorian had never regretted going to class more. He sat slumped in his desk, glasses sliding down his nose, barely listening to Mr Rainier as he droned on about the Templar Order.  He had no interest in hearing about the heroics of men in tin suits as they subjugated the mages they were meant to protect. Dorian sighed, rolling his eyes as Rainier began talking about Knight-Commander Greagoir and his great deeds. Leave it to the backwards South to glorify imprisonment.  
Though Dorian’s skin had prickled uncomfortably for most of the lesson, the phrase “for their own good” snatched his attention. He sat up, chewing on his lip as he listened to Rainier lecture.  
“Circles aren’t what they used to be” he explained, arms crossed over his chest, “towers have been done away with. Mages now reside in villages routinely patrolled by Templars.”  
Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes. Rainier looked at him, raising a dark eyebrow.  
“Got something to say, have you?”  
So much for going unnoticed. There was tittering around the classroom, students giggling as they stared at the new boy, keen to see his hasty retreat at being called out by the teacher. Dorian wasn’t fazed, however; he leaned forwards in his chair, giving Rainier as smile he knew was dripping with condescension, “the way you describe Circles makes them sound like holiday homes, where mages are free to come and go as they please, rather than the dressed-up detention centres they truly are.”  
“Isn’t it better that they’re kept segregated? Safer?”  
Dorian stiffened, the response not coming from Rainier, who stood at the front of the room, a look of boredom on his face. Dorian turned, trying to find the other speaker. He was disappointed when he realised who it was; Cullen Rutherford. Cullen had seemed to be sensible. And Dorian couldn’t help but admit that he was _very_ easy to look at, his freckled cheeks and golden curls contrasting with the broadness of his shoulders. A pity that Dorian would have to tear him down.  
“You must realise how narrow-minded you sound” Dorian said disdainfully, “the practice was, and is, barbaric.”  
Cullen stared at him, “Mages are dangerous.”  
“So are men with guns, yet they are free to roam. They even” he gasped dramatically, putting a hand to his chest, “protect us.”  
He grinned as a few of his fellow students laughed, though Rainier seemed far less impressed.  
“That isn’t the same thing, Dorian” he drawled, “and you know it.”  
Dorian tsked him, waving a hand in dismissal. He couldn’t help but find amusement in the growing irritation on Rainier’s face. He wondered how deep his brows would have to furrow to meet in the middle.  
Cullen nodded, “you can see a gun. Mages can hide.”  
“You needn’t worry” Dorian snapped, “most Southern mages seem too terrified to try anything.”  
Cullen leaned forwards in his chair, “I’d prefer to go to sleep at night knowing if the person next to me could become an abomination.”  
Dorian barked a laugh, “assuming that anyone would put up with a lummox like yourself long enough to fuck you.”  
“Alright!” Rainier stepped forwards, holding up his hands, calling over the ‘ooohs’ of students, “I encourage class debates, but this is getting off topic.”  
Dorian ignored him, “tell me, Cullen, have you even met a mage?”  
Rainier turned to Cullen, pointing at him, voice stern, “don’t.”  
Cullen jerked his chin up arrogantly, “that’s beside the point.”  
“Detention!”  
Dorian looked up at Rainier, “why?”  
Rainier stared at him, incredulous, “you swore in front of a teacher.”  
“I didn’t swear” Cullen protested.  
Rainier gave him a scathing look, “no, but you egged him on.” Both Dorian and Cullen opened their mouths to argue, but Rainier beat them to it, “shut it! You’ve both disrupted my class!”  
Dorian pouted, “it was relevant to the topic.”  
Rainier groaned, rubbing a hand across his face, “I am the teacher. You are the student. I do not have to justify myself to _you_.”  
He turned around, picking up the whiteboard marker, and Dorian sensed that anything further from him would just earn him another detention. He turned to Cullen, glaring at him. Cullen flinched under his gaze, looking down at his desk. Dorian smiled, smug, only for it to fall from his face when he turned back to the front of the room. Rainier was staring at him, looking severely unimpressed.  
“Congratulations” Rainier said, face stony, “you’ve been here for all of a week and you’ve already found yourself under my skin.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, “I pray that I’m not there long.”  
Rainier chuckled, “the feeling is mutual.”

 

***

Somehow, Ferelden detentions were worse than the ones Dorian had suffered back in Tevinter. At least there he had been made to reorganise the library; something somewhat stimulating. He loathed the question sheet he had been given to complete, staring down at the paper in disgust. He played with his pen, spinning it on the desktop.  
Rainier sat at his desk, eyes glued to his phone. Dorian would have been doing the same, but Rainier had taken great pleasure in confiscating his and Cullen’s phones, putting them in a basket on his desk. Dorian hadn’t expected to have a hated teacher so soon. Or such a dislikeable classmate, for that matter. Cullen sat a row ahead of him, to the side. His head was down, shoulders hunched as he worked on the question sheet. Dorian could almost hear the cogs working in his head. Alas, another dumb, sporty type with nothing but meat where his brain should have been.  
The screech of metal across linoleum filled the room as Rainier pushed his chair back, still looking at his phone as he walked out of the room. Dorian perked up, hesitating for a moment before he began to gather his things.  
“Do you know what the answer to question four is?” Dorian paused, turning. Cullen was looking at him expectantly, “the rites for joining the Grey Wardens?”  
Dorian stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously?” he sneered.  
Cullen shrugged, as if the altercation in class hadn’t happened, “I don’t know it.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, turning back to his desk, folding up the work sheet, shoving it in his bag.  
“I’m sorry if I offended you” Cullen said, and Dorian was taken aback by the sudden softness in his voice, “I didn’t realise I’d struck such a raw nerve.”  
Dorian barked a laugh, “I was far from offended. More astounded by your completely asinine opinions.”  
Dorian expected Cullen to argue, but the blond surprised him by looking sheepish.  
“I’ve actually never met a mage before.”  
Dorian couldn’t help laughing at the irony. He was tempted to make something float, just out of Cullen’s peripherals, but he wasn’t sure whether the school had security cameras.  
“I know, I sound so naïve” Cullen sighed, misinterpreting Dorian’s amusement, “To be perfectly honest, I feel like it would be kind of cool to be able to do magic. Though I’d be terrified of possession.”  
Dorian hummed, the noise decidedly disinterested. Cullen either didn’t pick up on it, or chose to ignore it, much to Dorian’s chagrin.  
“You probably already know this, but mages can be taken over by demons while they’re asleep” he continued, leaning towards Dorian, “I can’t imagine-“  
Dorian rolled his eyes, “trite Southern fear mongering” he snapped, “in Tevinter, there is a far better grasp of magic. I’m surprised you Fereldens aren’t chasing each other with pitchforks.”  
Dorian was doing everything he could to push Cullen’s buttons, keen to discourage the over-eager blond. It didn’t seem to be working, however, considering the wide-eyed wonder that spread across Cullen’s face.  
“What’s it like there?” he asked, “up North? I’ve never been out of Ferelden.”  
Dorian’s patience had reached its end. He swept his pens into his bag, swinging it over his shoulder as he stood up, “read a book.”  
Cullen looked up at him in confusion, “where are you going?”  
“I’m leaving.”  
Cullen looked as if he was considering following Dorian, hovering awkwardly between sitting and standing. Dorian grimaced, hurrying out of the classroom before Cullen could make up his mind.

***

Dorian strode quickly down the corridor, the final bell echoing loudly, eager to leave his awful first week behind him. Particularly his bizarre detention with Cullen. He rounded a corner, almost free, when he caught sight of Cullen. He grimaced, tilting his head down, trying to rush past before he could be spotted.  
“Dorian!”  
He stopped, groaning. Why was this _boy_ so persistent? He turned, not bothering to plaster a fake smile across his face, fixing Cullen with a hard glare. He hoped the way his glasses slid down his nose a little added to the severity.  
Cullen jogged up to him, golden curls bouncing, sleeves of his blazer pushed up to his elbows. Dorian couldn’t help thinking that Cullen looked like a mabari, goofy grin only adding to the comparison. He wrinkled his nose.  
“I covered for you.”  
Dorian furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “excuse me?”  
Cullen was nodding, looking strangely pleased with himself, “when you left detention. Blackwall came back and I told him you went to sick bay. So, if you see him, hide.”  
“Blackwall?”  
Cullen’s eyes opened wide, “oh! Blackwall is Rainier. Long story.”  
Dorian grimaced, “I see.”  
Cullen ducked his head a little, hand going up to the back of his neck, “I felt bad. I thought it would at least make some reparations for earlier.”  
The awkward tension hung so thick in the air that it could be cut with a knife. Dorian looked around for an escape, desperate to leave. He normally would have just told Cullen that he was finished with the conversation, but the boy was so painfully earnest that Dorian couldn’t bear it. He didn’t find it endearing, far from it, but to hurt him would be like kicking a puppy.  
“We have history again tomorrow” Cullen said, and for once Dorian was thankful he was breaking the silence, “I hope there isn’t another argument.”  
Dorian could see that Cullen had meant it as a joke, but he couldn’t help replying, “do you plan on saying anything as stupid as you did today?”  
Cullen’s cheeks suddenly went scarlet, taking Dorian by surprise. There Cullen was, six feet tall, the very picture of Ferelden masculinity, and he was blushing like a school girl. If nothing else, Dorian found it amusing.  
Cullen opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of a girl. Dorian had seen her around before, Sophia Trevelyan. Brown hair and blue eyes, fair skin. She was pretty, he supposed, in a bland way. She would have looked nicer if she wasn’t sneering at him. Dorian stared back at her, unflinching.  
“Can I help you?”  
She scoffed, turning to Cullen, “Cully-Wully” she whined, “why are you talking to _him_?”  
Dorian was taken aback. He hadn’t spoken a word to the girl and yet she already had taken a dislike to him. Though, he couldn’t really be surprised, he supposed. What did surprise him, however, was that Cullen smiled at him.  
“We’re friends” he said, eyes not moving from Dorian, “from history class.”  
Dorian couldn’t help feel a surge of satisfaction at the scandalised look on Trevelyan’s face. She turned all her attention to Cullen, her arms crossed over her chest, “ _why_?”.  
Dorian gave Trevelyan a patronising smile, “I imagine it’s because he needed a break from you.”  
Trevelyan gasped, a deep scowl twisting her features. She wrapped her arm around Cullen’s, tugging him, “let’s go.”  
Cullen began to follow, looking back at Dorian. The expression on his face couldn’t have been less enthusiastic, yet he continued to let Trevelyan drag him away.  
“She’s delightful!” Dorian called after him.  
Cullen mouthed ‘sorry’ before turning around, disappearing into the sunny afternoon. Dorian laughed to himself, hoping that, if Cullen couldn’t take a hint, his petulant girlfriend would keep him at bay. He was in decidedly better spirits as he began his walk home.


	2. Homesick and Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear from the first chapter, this fic is gonna be fun and cliche as hell. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, though. I had exams, and while writing is a great procrastinator, I ended up actually having to study, so this was put on the back burner. But! I'm planning on getting back into this, so prepare for more!
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy!!!

Dorian had made himself at home in the school library. He sat up the back of the building, hidden from the front by the rows of bookshelves, his notes spread out around him. He was thankful that the librarian had the sense to put the heater on, the Ferelden cold biting him through even his thick school blazer. He would have been enjoying himself more, comfortable as he was in his natural environment, had it not been for the subject of his assignment.  
“The Templar Order” sat at the top of his blank word document, the cursor blinking at him, waiting for his input. The topic wasn’t ideal, he had to admit, though he couldn’t imagine writing an entire essay on the Dalish. As he leafed through the book he had open, scanning the pages, he couldn’t help grimacing. The detailed diagrams in the book, demonstrating each Templar ‘ability’ and its purpose, were gruesome, and Dorian’s fingers itched with the urge to set them alight. As it was, Dorian broke his own cardinal rule, letting his highlighter drag across the page of the library book.  
Though the essay question itself had far more to do with the _achievements-_ if they could be called that- of the Templar Order, Dorian was determined instead to criticise their practices. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Rainier’s face when he turned it in.   
“Dorian!”  
Dorian jumped, glancing up. He groaned inwardly, realising that a particular blond was standing over him. Cullen was hovering on the other side of the desk, goofy grin on his face, hand raised in a wave. Dorian fixed him with a scathing look.  
“Yes?”  
Cullen didn’t seem to falter at his tone. Instead, he looked almost pleased, as if Dorian acknowledging him made his day.   
“How are you?” Cullen asked, tucking his hands in his pockets.  
Dorian arched an eyebrow, gesturing to his work, “I was productive, until you interrupted.”  
Cullen instantly flushed, his cheeks turning pink. Dorian watched as Cullen’s hand flew to the back of his neck, pulling at the curls that hung at his nape. He almost felt a little guilty, making Cullen squirm so, but his amusement outweighed it.  
Cullen nodded, red still staining his cheeks, “what topic are you doing?”  
Dorian sighed, sitting back, letting his pen fall to the desk, “Templars.”  
Cullen’s eyes opened wide. Dorian couldn’t help but find the excitement on Cullen’s face at least a little bit cute, though any endearment he felt disappeared when the other boy pulled out a chair from the desk, plopping himself down in front of Dorian. Dorian groaned internally.  
“I’m doing Templars as well!” Cullen said, looking at Dorian intently, “perhaps we can work together.”  
Dorian snorted derisively, “I work far better alone, thank you.”  
Cullen nodded, looking a little disappointed, though he kept smiling, “I’m going to enlist in the Templars when I graduate” he mentioned, though he had an air that suggested he thought he was impressing Dorian, “I’ve wanted to for years. I’ve been training.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, he was obviously going to get nothing done with Cullen hanging around. He entwined his fingers, letting his chin rest upon them, “my my, you truly are a puritan Chantry school boy.”  
Cullen scowled, “I’m not a puritan.”  
Dorian grinned, pleased that he had finally cracked through Cullen’s infuriating optimism. He tilted his head to the side, “oh, I’m sure you and Trevelyan get up to _all_ sorts of things the Maker would frown upon” he teased, “I jest. I don’t think that holding hands breaks your vow of celibacy, Cullen. You and your virginity are safe.”  
Cullen’s scowl deepened, and Dorian couldn’t resist the temptation to prompt further, “as for the assignment, I’m planning on focusing on the more… barbaric practices of the Order. You know, the unethical treatment of mages, the massacres, Harrowings. That, and the Order’s ultimate frivolity.” He gave Cullen a smug smile, “I’m _sure_ you’d agree.”  
Cullen’s scowl had almost turned into a pout, his bottom lip jutting out, “I’m not a virgin.”  
Dorian blinked, taken aback, “that’s what you took from that?”  
Cullen shrugged, still looking sour.  
“I thought you would have interrupted me” Dorian said dryly, “told me all about what dashing heroes the Templars truly are.”  
Cullen shrugged again, “I’m not here to argue with you.”  
Dorian leaned forwards, scrutinising him. Cullen was sitting straight-backed, hands folded loosely on the tabletop, looking earnestly back at Dorian. Dorian also noticed the way that Cullen’s biceps strained just a little against the fabric of his blazer, as well as the sharp cut of his jaw, though that was neither here nor there.  
“You’re trying very hard.”  
Cullen nodded, a small smile on his face.   
Dorian squinted at him, “why?”  
The smile faded from Cullen’s face, and he cocked his head in confusion. If Dorian hadn’t been trying to keep a straight face for effect, he would have laughed at how much like a puppy Cullen was. Instead, he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “what’s your aim? Lure me into a false comfort and then humiliate me?”  
“No! I wouldn’t…“Cullen spluttered, “that’s- why…?”  
Dorian rolled his eyes. Cullen was painfully earnest, it was almost unbearable to watch. He sensed Cullen was reaching the end of his rope, however, if the exasperation on his face was anything to go by.   
“I know I am extremely handsome, and endlessly charming” Dorian drawled, standing up, “and anyone would kill to be my friend” he snapped his laptop shut, shoving it into his bag, “but I’m not falling for that.”  
Cullen opened his mouth to argue, but Dorian was quick. He slung his bag over his shoulder, rushing out of the library, leaving the confused blond at the desk.  


***  


The walk home from school was long, but Dorian enjoyed it. He’d never had to walk anywhere really when he’d lived in Tevinter, but for all the things he hated about Ferelden, his new independence was something he relished. His parents complained about having to work, sacrificing their lavish lifestyle in an effort to blend in, but he had to admit, apostacy had its perks.  
He unlocked the front door, walking into his- decidedly smaller- house, a satisfying ache in his limbs from the trek home. The house was empty, his parents not due home for a while. Dorian loved that his parents worked late, content with the illusion that he’d moved far away from them, living alone. The lack of family photos helped. He darted straight up the stairs, eager to lock himself in his room. Throwing his bag on the floor, he let himself collapse back onto his bed, the springs squeaking beneath him. He flicked his finger absently, the television switching on, the room filled with the sound of the history channel. The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, and Dorian basked in it, enjoying the warmth on his skin.   
Dorian began to drift off, his eyelids growing heavy. He curled in on himself, still in his school uniform, letting his eyes slide shut. It felt like he had just dozed off when he was snapped awake by a shrill ringing. Grumbling, Dorian sat up, searching for his phone. He found it in the pocket of his blazer, tangled underneath him. Just before the phone rang out, he jammed it to his ear.  
“Hello?”  
“Who shit in your cornflakes?”  
Dorian smiled at the sound of Felix’s voice. It had been too long since he’d talked to his friend, and he was thankful for the call, though he couldn’t let Felix know that.  
“I was asleep” he snapped, settling back down on his bed, “you should be more mindful.”  
He could practically hear Felix rolling his eyes, “I checked the time zones, Dorian. It’s not even six in Ferelden. And you should be grateful, I had to wait for father to listen to an ­ _entire_ album before I could call” he made a noise of disgust, “I will never understand his love for opera.”  
“Perhaps you should be here then” Dorian groused, still irritable “the dog-lords would surely share your horrid taste in music.”  
Felix laughed, and Dorian felt himself relax. A tiny moment of familiarity in a room that wasn’t really his, in a country completely alien to him. He played with the blanket on his bed, rubbing the thick velvet between his fingertips. It had been purely for decoration back in Tevinter, but he quickly discovered its practicality when he realised how cold Ferelden was.  
“How are things?” he asked, almost too nonchalant, “back home?”  
Felix sighed, “people are still talking. Mother told off one of my tutors for gossiping just today.”  
Dorian groaned, praying the Maker would free him of his meddlesome parents, “you’d think they’d have found something else to occupy themselves with.”  
“Mm” Felix was silent for a moment, “how are things over there?”  
Dorian grimaced at the subject change, though he had to admit, his parents’ fuck up wasn’t the most pleasant of topics either, “it’s awful.”  
Felix huffed a laugh, “it can’t be _that_ bad.”  
“Oh, but it is” Dorian assured him. He sat up straighter, the better to complain, “the people here are backwards. Completely. And” he sighed, adopting a tone of contempt, “I’ve acquired a _dog_.”  
“What?”  
“Some Ferelden boy is quite taken with me” he whined, “he seems to think we’re friends.”  
“Dorian, that hardly sounds like a problem. Do you… like him?” Felix teased.  
Dorian scoffed, “no, Felix. Maker, he is unbelievably irritating. Far too happy and eager. He’s like a damned mabari for how much he follows me around.”  
Felix laughed, “sounds like you have a boyfriend”.  
“Vishante kaffas, I’m never going to tell you anything ever again” Dorian hissed.  
“Alright, alright” Felix conceded, still snickering, “I’ll let it go.”  
Dorian huffed, “thank you.”  
They lapsed into silence, Dorian still fuming. The line crackled between them, and Dorian could hear Felix shuffling around, the sounds of Minrathous just audible. He could see Felix’s room in his mind’s eye; the wide desk, cluttered with notes, the high ceiling, the four poster bed that Felix was most likely sprawled across, the balcony doors open, looking over the city. He sighed, trying to keep the homesickness at bay.   
“How’s Rilienus?” Dorian asked, fiddling with the fabric of his pants, “has he said anything about me?”  
Felix didn’t respond, though Dorian could still hear his quiet breaths, “Felix?”  
“No” Felix said finally, voice flat, “I haven’t seen him around.”  
Dorian’s face fell, disappointed, “oh.”  
“He hasn’t called you?”  
“Not in a while, no” Dorian admitted, “he’s probably just busy.”  
Dorian heard the front door slam shut, the sound of high heeled shoes clicking against tile snapping in his ears. He couldn’t hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, but he decided he wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at.  
“I have to go”  
Felix made a noise of protest, “you should come back to Tevinter. Father loves you, he’d let you stay with us.”  
Dorian smiled sadly, wishing desperately that he could, “my parents would never let me.”  
“Run away?”  
“I wish” Dorian laughed, “I’ll tell you if I plan on it”.  
“Bye, Dorian”.  
“Goodbye.”  
Dorian hung up the phone, feeling decidedly lower than he had before the conversation. He loved hearing from Felix, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was almost _home_ when they were talking, only to be left in an unpleasant reality when they hung up. He flicked his hand in disgust, the curtains pulling shut, blocking the fading sunlight. He could still hear the world outside, though, the unmistakeable sounds of suburbia. He missed the rush of the city, the constant discordant music of Qarinus. It was too quiet in Redcliffe.  
Dorian turned his attention to the television, which was still droning on. He tried to focus on the documentary, but, amazingly, the history of Ferelden agriculture wasn’t grabbing him. Still, he tried to watch it, almost able to pretend that he truly did want to know how many different types of laurel farmers had to try until they found prophet’s. When the growling of his stomach grew too loud to ignore, he dragged himself off the bed, trudging down the stairs.  
He found Aquina in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, phone in one hand, glass of red wine in the other. Dorian could see why others found his mother intimidating. She was striking, even as she drew closer to forty, though there was a severity to her features. Her long black hair hung like a curtain, draped over her shoulder. She always wore tight clothes, showing off the swell of her hip, her ample breast. Dorian had to admit, he envied the way she seemed to be able to twirl men around her little finger, save for his father.   
“Dinner’s ready” she drawled, not looking up from her phone.  
Dorian glanced behind her, seeing the bag of takeout next to the sink. He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, serving himself some noodles, heaping vegetables and sauce high on top of them. He grabbed a glass, filling it up at the sink.  
“Where’s Halward?” he asked, looking at his mother over his shoulder.  
She fixed him with a glare that would have made him tremble when he was younger, her steel grey eyes hard, “I told you not to call him that.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, “I’ll call him father when he acts like one.”  
The clip that he received to the side of the head didn’t shock him, but it did hurt. Dorian glowered at his mother, snatching his bowl up from the counter. He grabbed a fork, slamming the drawer shut forcefully, before stomping up the stairs, cursing the way the carpet muffled his anger. The wooden staircase he’d had back home had served much better to emphasise his point.  


***  


Dorian lay curled up in his bed, reading the book Mr Vael had set him for Religion. Evening had well and truly given way to night, and Dorian could feel his attention waning. He rolled, cringing as his empty dinner bowl, which had been on the bed beside him, fell to the floor with a clatter. Groaning, he slid out from under the covers, reluctantly leaving his warm cocoon, and gathered up his bowl and fork.  
As Dorian left his room, the sound of raised voices filtered up the stairs. While his parents’ arguments were not a rarity, that didn’t mean they didn’t set Dorian on edge. He crept down the stairs, careful to avoid the creak of the third step from the bottom. For once, Dorian was thankful for the ugly beige carpet that covered the stairs.   
“… it’s your fault we ended up in this shit hole!”  
Aquina’s voice was shrill, almost ear splitting as she shouted. Dorian would have felt sorry for the neighbours, though he felt he deserved the most sympathy for having to live with them.  
“If you weren’t such a coward, we could board a plane back tonight.”  
Halward wasn’t as loud as Aquina, though Dorian knew that his tone was no less angry. It was one he’d heard so many times before; when he messed up a spell, when he talked back, when he was found holding hands with another magister’s son.   
Dorian walked down the hallway, trying to ignore the yelling.  
“You know we’ll never be welcome back! You had to fucking push your luck!”  
He made it into the kitchen, his socked feet not making much sound on the tiled floor. He placed his bowl in the sink, rinsing it.   
“Just because you’re content to live in mediocrity doesn’t mean I am!”  
Dorian wandered over to the pantry, stepping up on the bottom shelf, reaching into the back. He found what he was looking for, his hands closing around a block of his mother’s nice chocolate.  
“If by mediocrity you mean being married to _you_ , then I can guarantee, I’m not content.”  
Dorian slammed the pantry shut, grinning to himself when the argument stopped.   
“Dorian?”  
He didn’t respond, instead climbing onto one of the counters, reaching for the wine rack. His parents resumed their bickering, though in comically hushed tones. Dorian wondered why they even bothered with the façade.   
“That boy needs to pull his own weight”.  
Dorian’s skin prickled, his father’s hissing making his cheeks flush with anger. He pulled down one of Halward’s vintages, dropping back to the floor.   
“He’s eighteen. I’m sure you were still sucking at your mother’s breast at that age.”  
Dorian leaned against the doorway, his stolen treats in hand, eavesdropping.   
“We must send for someone” Halward growled, “surely there are some left still loyal to our house.”  
Aquina’s laugh was harsh, “there is no one, Halward.”  
“Then we will find someone. We need to arrange a marriage before all the suitable brides are gone. I will not have my son marrying a soporati.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall and making his way back up the stairs. He’d heard the same argument before, and wasn’t keen for a rehash. He left his parents bickering in the sitting room, shutting himself in his bedroom.   
He settled down on his bed, the springs protesting. He fished his phone out from under the pillow, scrolling to Rilienus’ contact. It was just nearing dawn in Tevinter, but Dorian knew he’d be awake, most likely working on his dissertation. With a small smile, he clicked on the call button, pressing the phone to his ear.   
As the phone rang once, twice, three times, Dorian felt his heart sink. He tried to picture Rilienus in his head, tan skin like whiskey, dark brown hair hanging in ringlets to his shoulders. He hung his head as the phone rang out, an automated voice telling him to leave a message. He jammed his thumb against the hang-up button, throwing the phone down.   
He turned to the chocolate, ripping open the gold foil. He snapped a chunk off, chewing without really tasting. His mother would miss it, though Dorian felt no pleasure at his tiny act of rebellion. He reached for the wine, nestled against his leg. It was Orlesian, a sweet red. At least fifty years old, and expensive. Dorian picked off the wax, gently easing out the cork. The rich scent wafted out, the Dorian didn’t stop to smell it, pressing his lips to the bottle and taking a long drink. It burned his throat pleasantly. He wondered how long it would take him to drain the bottle. Hopefully less time than it took for him to not be able to think.


	3. An Affinity With Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this chapter- uni is starting up again and so this fic has taken a backseat. That, and issues with my own mental health also sometimes stop me from being able to really focus on writing. I do have this fic completely planned out til the end, but actually fleshing out chapters can really stress me out haha. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! And though it doesn't sound like it, I do genuinely enjoy writing for you all :) I love comments, your feedback is what gets me off my arse and writing the next part for you all.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Aching muscles. Sweaty skin. Limp hair that could not be saved no matter how much he fussed with it. Dorian absolutely detested P.E. He was no delicate flower, but Dorian’s lean build was nothing compared to his luddite peers, who had no qualms with knocking him to the ground, even when he’d shouted that he didn’t have the ball. It was barbaric. Torture, sanctioned and encouraged by the demon, Iron Bull. The track-suit wearing qunari- who had threatened Dorian with laps on his first day when he accidentally called him “Mr Bull”- had officially overtaken Rainier at the top of Dorian’s shit list.  
He settled himself down on the grass with a groan, safely hidden in the shade of a huge tree. Dorian was alone, as he had been for every recess and lunch since he had started at _Our Lady Andraste._ It was no matter, his solitude meant he was able to discreetly heat up his pasta, gently warming the bottom of the Tupperware container. The smell of tomato wafted up, and he breathed in deeply, thankful that his neighbour had been kind enough to bring over dinner for him when she’d realised that he was home alone. Dorian was glad that his parents general disdain and rudeness hadn’t managed to scare off Wynne.  
Dorian reached into his bag, pulling out his book, laying it delicately on his lap. He reluctantly also pulled out his horn-rimmed reading glasses, sliding them up the bridge of his hooked nose. The tree had quickly become Dorian’s favourite spot in the school. The little sunlight that filtered through the leaves helped him warm up a little, and most of the other students tended to sit further down the hill. That his spot also afforded him an excellent view of the boys’ field hockey team practicing on the oval could also be seen as an added benefit. He settled back against the trunk, gently opening his book to the page he’d bookmarked, eating a forkful of pasta as he began to read.  
He had no idea how Felix had managed to get his hands on the book, but he was eternally grateful that he had. His best friend’s parting gift had become his most prized possession, the leather binding already a little scuffed for how much Dorian had carted it around with him. The thick vellum pages held the history of the Imperium, though presented far more sordidly than what Dorian had been taught in school. He read it eagerly, almost halfway through the tome.  
A shadow slid up over Dorian, blocking the few spots of sunlight that fell across his page. He looked up, squinting at the person standing over him. Cullen was panting obnoxiously, his sweaty blue and white field hockey uniform clinging to him, a wide grin plastered across his face. Dorian arched an eyebrow, letting his eyes drop back down to his book. Irritation pricked under his skin when Cullen sat down next to him with a huff, wrinkling his nose as the smell of sweat and _boy_ permeated the air. He tried to ignore his loud companion, pointedly keeping his gaze downwards.  
“You wear glasses.”  
Dorian didn’t even try to mask his condescension, “really? I hadn’t noticed.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cullen flush, cheeks going bright pink. He smiled to himself, pushing his glasses further up his nose, “I forgot my contacts.”  
Cullen nodded, trying to lean back nonchalantly, legs splayed out in front of him. Dorian kept his head turned downwards, though he did let his gaze slide discreetly and appreciatively over Cullen’s thighs. They were thick and muscular, matched by equally toned calves. As much as Cullen irked Dorian, he couldn’t help but admit that the boy was attractive. Even if it was in a dumb, sporty way.  
“What are you reading?”  
Dorian held up the book lazily, even though he knew that Cullen wouldn’t be able to read the Tevene writing on the cover, “you’re intensely persistent.”  
“I’ll take that as a compliment” Cullen laughed.  
Dorian sighed, “I assure you, it’s not.”  
The huff that Dorian received in response told him that he’d finally broken through Cullen’s infuriatingly sunny exterior. He smiled to himself, pleased, carefully closing his book as sliding it into his bag. He pushed his glasses up like a headband, black tendrils of hair finally out of his face. He stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave Cullen moping.  
“Why won’t you talk to me?”  
Dorian finally turned to Cullen, who was looking up at him from the ground. He had expected to see anger on his face, or irritation, but Dorian was surprised when Cullen instead just looked… hurt. It snatched the snark he had waiting away, leaving his mind blank. He raised his eyebrows at Cullen, trying to retain his aloofness.  
Cullen frowned, picking at the grass, pulling it out by its roots, “you don’t have to be so belligerent.”  
Over his eighteen years, Dorian had had far worse thrown at him. He had been called many variations of arrogant, rude, disappointing, all of which had ceased to do anything other than egg him on. Words had become something of a game to him, a contest with himself to see how quickly he could cause the other person to lose their temper, all the while their insults bounced off of him. However, something about Cullen’s tone stung. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep his face blank, “big word for you.”  
Cullen’s frown turned into a scowl. He clambered to his feet, standing over Dorian. Dorian took a step back, looking up at the blond.  
“You know” Cullen began, hand going to the back of his neck, brows furrowed, “you’d be less pissed off if you let yourself have friends.”  
Dorian barked a harsh laugh, rolling his eyes, “on the contrary” he spat, “I quite enjoy being the social pariah.”  
Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again, sighing. “Fine” he breathed. Before Dorian could say anything, Cullen had turned on his heel, striding away. He’d won, technically, but it didn’t feel like a victory. Cullen’s retreat had been less a defeat and more a surrender, and rather than leaving Dorian feeling elated and superior, he just felt guilty. Cullen had managed to work his way under Dorian’s skin.  


***  


The final bell saw Dorian almost sprinting through the corridors, weaving around his disgruntled peers, phone in hand. After an under-the-desk text conversation throughout Mathematics with a rather unimpressed Felix ( _“Dorian, you really can be a total arse sometimes”_ ), Dorian was determined to at try and apologise to Cullen. He knew, though, that if he didn’t do it that very day, by the time he saw Cullen in History the next day, he would have talked himself out of it.  
He emerged from the front doors of the school, spotting Cullen by his car, the rusted beast dwarfing the cars that surrounded it. Unfortunately for Dorian, Cullen was accompanied by his parasite, Trevelyan dangling off his arm. He could see her pouting from where he stood, no doubt spewing inanities in her child-like voice. He grimaced, bouncing his foot as he waited for her to leave. Thankfully, she did, giving Cullen a deep kiss before flouncing away to her bus. Dorian watched her leave, unable to keep the sneer from his face.  
Before Cullen could climb into his car, Dorian rushed over, bag bouncing painfully against his hip, “Cullen!”  
Cullen turned, though his expression quickly soured once he saw Dorian. Dorian winced internally, guilt prickling in his chest. He hovered awkwardly in front of Cullen, gaze dropping to the ground. As adept as he was with words, the whole ‘apologising’ thing didn’t come as easily to him.  
“I… uh…”  
Cullen crossed his arms over his chest, “yes?”  
Dorian grimaced, feeling a little intimidated. He hadn’t really noticed before how much taller than him Cullen was, but with the boy standing up at his full height, he was easily a head taller than Dorian was. He took an involuntary step back, “I’m sorry… about before, I- you were just…”  
“Hey.”  
Dorian looked up, eyes widening in surprise when Cullen was grinning down at him.  
“It’s ok” Cullen said, tucking his hands into his pockets, “do you want to hang out?”  
Dorian blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone as confusing as Cullen Rutherford, who somehow had gone from glowering and scary to a grinning idiot in two seconds flat. While he’d smoothed things out between he and Cullen- apparently- he still wasn’t quite sure whether he wanted to be _friends_ with the suspiciously welcoming Ferelden. Yet, the prospect of yet another weekend home alone with his parents wasn’t really an enticing one. He didn’t think he could listen to another argument about whose fault it was that they were in Ferelden without setting the living room curtains on fire.  
He looked up at Cullen, scrutinising him, “you really want to be friends?”  
Cullen nodded eagerly, still smiling broadly.  
“Why?”  
Cullen shrugged, “I saw you around school, and I thought you seemed… cool. Worldly.”  
Dorian hummed and Cullen ducked his head, hand going to the back of his neck. Dorian followed the movement with his eyes, realising that it was a tic of some sort, a nervous habit.  
“I wanted to talk to you when you first started” Cullen admitted shyly, “but I couldn’t pluck up the nerve.”  
Dorian couldn’t help but snort at that, “and you thought an argument was the best way to approach me?”  
Cullen flushed scarlet, “uh… not exactly.”  
Dorian pursed his lips, thinking. At best, he and Cullen would hang out, they would quickly grow bored of each other and they’d part ways, at worst, he’d be the butt of some cruel joke in front of the school. However, the more he talked to Cullen, even if the over-eager boy got on his nerves, he didn’t seem to be cruel. Dorian sighed, relenting.  
“We can hang out.”  
Cullen smiled wide, straightening up, “tomorrow?”  
Dorian blinked in surprise, “um. Sure.”  
Cullen’s smile somehow widened, and Dorian found he couldn’t help but smile back, just a little. However, the smile quickly faded when Cullen offered him a lift home. He shot a fearful look at the car- though it would be more accurately described as a truck- that Cullen stood against, the rust spots that showed through the red paint, the thinning tyres, and the flat bed, covered with a worn tarp. It screamed ‘death trap’.  
“Is it safe?”  
Cullen laughed, which did nothing to placate Dorian, “well, I’m not dead yet.”  
Dorian glared, “that’s hardly reassuring.”  
Somehow, Cullen managed to coerce him into the cab, the car creaking under Dorian’s foot as he climbed into it. The bench seat was soft, worn leather, which squeaked a little as he sat down. Cullen jumped through the opposite door, pulling it shut forcefully behind him. The truck bounced on its axels, and before the engine had even turned over Dorian found himself holding on for dear life. When Cullen finally started the ignition and the car spluttered to life, he held on even tighter, his skin white over his knuckles for how hard he gripped the door handle.  
“Maker” he hissed, “please don’t let this maniac kill me.”  
Cullen chuckled, patting Dorian’s shoulder before he shifted into gear, tearing out of the school car park.  


***

 

Dorian was surprised when he woke up the next morning, sure that he’d been the victim of Cullen’s insane driving. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, grimacing when he looked at his hands, smeared with the remains of his slept-in eyeliner. He sat up slowly, slipping out from beneath the covers, the morning chill biting at his bare arms, raising gooseflesh.  
Since his move, Dorian had found he never looked forward to anything in particular. While the weeks were filled with the boredom of school- half of which was ‘teaching’ him what he’d previously learned in Tevinter, the other half being either incorrect or rife with Southern xenophobia- the weekends he found equally miserable, stuck at home with his parents, or bouncing around the empty house. As strange as he found the idea of hanging out with Cullen Rutherford voluntarily, he had to admit that he was a little excited.  
He opened the curtains with a flick of his wrist, sunlight streaming in. The rare sight of a cloudless blue sky didn’t fool him, however. After dressing himself in a black turtleneck and skinny jeans, he made sure to grab a heavy coat, slipping his arms into it. He admired himself in the mirror, smoothing down his shirt, slicking his hair back. He quickly ran dark eyeliner around his eyes, smudging it artfully. He couldn’t do anything about his moustache, frowning at the hair above his lip which could only truly be described as ‘peach fuzz’. He envied Cullen, who had already developed stubble.  
Dorian wandered down the stairs, mood lifting as he realised he was home alone, silence ringing throughout the house. He grabbed himself a box of leftover fish cakes from the fridge, chucking them into the microwave while he set about making himself a coffee. He closed his eyes while the kettle boiled, enjoying the silence. He was almost comfortable in the house, when it wasn’t constantly filled with the sound of his parents’ incessant bickering. The kettle clicked off and Dorian poured his coffee, grabbing the fish cakes out of the microwave. He settled himself down in the little breakfast nook, curling up on the bench as he began to eat.  
A cold breeze greeted Dorian when he finally left the house, biting at his face. He shut the door hastily behind him, hurrying down the front path.  
“Where are you going?”  
Dorian whipped around, eyes wide with guilt at the sight of his mother, the automatic garage door shutting behind her, blocking her pristine white sports car from the view of the street.  
She gestured impatiently, phone held loosely in her upraised hand, the other claw-like on her hip, “well?”  
Dorian cringed. His parents never used to care where he went, his mother especially indifferent to what he got up to. The move seemed to have sparked some paternal instinct in them that had long been dormant. Dorian would have liked to think it was because they cared about his well-being, and how he was adjusting in a strange country, but he felt it had far more to do with the fact that he was their only heir.  
“A friend’s house” he answered, turning, hoping that the conversation would end.  
“Who’s this friend?”  
Dorian slowly looked back, sighing, “just a friend, mother. He’s in my history class.”  
Dorian knew he got much of his sass from Aquina, as the way she arched her brow demonstrated. She crossed her arms across her chest, giving Dorian a look that made him feel small.  
“Last time you were going to see ‘just a friend’” she drawled, “his father found you both… in a compromising position.”  
Dorian flushed angrily, “you and father have both made it clear you won’t tolerate my ‘deviance’” he snapped, “it isn’t like that.”  
Aquina’s expression softened somewhat. To Dorian’s surprise, she looked almost sad. She sighed, “I won’t tell your father. And neither should you.”  
Dorian nodded, skin prickling uncomfortably. Aquina gave him a strained smile before spinning around, heels clicking against the pavement as she strode towards the front door. Dorian ducked his head, not waiting for her to change her mind about lecturing him more before he rushed off down the street.  


***  


To say Cullen lived in an alienage wouldn’t have been too far from the truth, Dorian decided. Unlike his neighbourhood, which was almost exclusively human, he passed more and more elves as he wandered down the hill towards Cullen’s house. The houses weren’t in shambles, but they were noticeably smaller than what he was used to, most fairly old, a little shabby, and every now and then he would pass one that was boarded up, or otherwise abandoned. He drew his jacket a little tighter around himself, keeping his head down.  
He recognised Cullen’s house by the huge truck parked in the driveway. Cullen’s place was a little more well-kept than the houses around him, though it was sorely in need of a paint job, the blue that had been painted on the outside peeling in places. Dorian took a deep breath, walking slowly up to the front door, knocking loudly.  
The door opened with a creak, and Dorian was greeted by a grinning Cullen. He immediately felt overdressed, eyes trailing down the simple shirt-and-jeans combo that Cullen sported. He hadn’t even bothered to put on shoes, walking around in just his socks.  
“Hey!” Cullen said brightly, stepping aside, “come in.”  
Dorian walked in, feeling instantly awkward. The house was full of mismatched furniture; a plush tartan armchair, alongside a cream loveseat. The green walls were adorned with photos upon photos of smiling blonde people, crammed in together. The shelves and mantle were littered with knick-knacks. The room was a disorganised mess, and Dorian was sure his interior-designer mother would faint if she saw it, but there was something comforting about it. It felt lived in. Like a home.  
“Sorry for the mess” Cullen sighed, kicking some toys to the side, “Rosalie leaves crap everywhere.”  
Dorian looked up from the coffee table, which had someone’s half-finished knitting sitting on it, “Rosalie?”  
Cullen’s eyes widened, “oh. My sister.”  
“You have a sibling?”  
“ _Siblings_ ” Cullen corrected him, “though more like demons. Rosalie is the youngest. She’s eight and a total brat. Bran is fifteen, and Mia is twenty-three.”  
Dorian felt a spike of envy, even as Cullen rolled his eyes, as if he was exasperated at the very existence of his siblings. Cullen didn’t seem to notice, instead gesturing to the loveseat.  
“Want to play something?”  
Dorian shrugged, sitting next to Cullen, who settled back, a smile on his face. He flicked on the television, the game console coming to life with a beep.  
“Does your brother go to school with us?” Dorian asked, taking the controller that Cullen handed to him.  
Cullen shook his head, eyes on the screen as he scrolled through the games, “he goes to Redcliffe.”  
He waited for Cullen to elaborate, or add something, but the blond said nothing, still scrolling through games. Normally Dorian was good at babbling, even when someone was clearly not interested in talking to him, but he found that it was too awkward, even for him. He began to regret saying yes.  
Thankfully, at that moment, Cullen finally decided on a game, starting it up. Dorian looked down at the controller he was holding, wondering what all the different buttons were for. He wasn’t even sure if he was holding it correctly.  
“Cullen?” he said, “I don’t have a clue how to play.”  
To his surprise, Cullen didn’t laugh at him, nor look at him like he was an idiot. He reached out, and Dorian jumped at the warmth of Cullen’s hand on his, snatching it back. Cullen didn’t react, instead holding the controller up, explaining what each of the buttons were for. Dorian tried to follow as Cullen demonstrated, but he still wasn’t quite sure what he needed ‘melee’ and ‘power boost’ for, even as they loaded into a battle.  
At first, Dorian was mostly frustrated. Cullen killed him, again and again, and Dorian watched helplessly as his points remained at zero. He felt his irritation rising, button mashing more furiously, leaning forwards in the chair. When he finally won a round, he couldn’t help but turn to Cullen, giving him a smug smile.  
“How does it feel to lose?”  
Cullen shrugged, “you tell me.”  
Dorian turned back to the television, mouth dropping open at the sight of ‘defeat’ flashing across his half of the screen, “that isn’t fair!”  
Cullen laughed, poking out his tongue at Dorian, “you snooze, you lose.”  
Dorian harrumphed, all but throwing the controller down. Cullen continued to laugh, much to Dorian’s chagrin. He looked around the room, eyes falling on a chess board, hanging haphazardly off the edge of a shelf.  
“There” he said, pointing to the board, “let’s use that instead.”  
Cullen followed his gaze, shrugging and getting up. Dorian watched as he set it up on the coffee table, confident that he could beat Cullen. It was one thing to be good at an arbitrary video game, quite another to be as proficient as he was at a true game of intelligence. Dorian was keen to wipe the smugness from Cullen’s face. To say that he was a sore loser was an understatement.  
Once the board was set up, Dorian was gracious enough to let Cullen go first, confident that he would need the help. However, as the game drew on, and Cullen collected more and more of Dorian’s pieces, he grew ever more aware of his impending defeat.  
“How?” he cried in exasperation, fighting the urge to toss the board across the room, “how is some boy from _Ferelden_ better than _me_ at chess?”  
Cullen laughed, and Dorian realised how petulant he sounded. He refused to back down, though, crossing his arms across his chest.  
“I’ve been playing for years” Cullen explained with a shrug, still grinning, “Mia annihilates me, though, so don’t feel too bad.”  
Dorian responded with a ‘harumph’.  
Cullen chuckled, “plus, you’re not very discreet with your cheating.”  
Dorian’s eyes widened, his cheeks burning. It was true, he had had to employ some more… unorthodox strategies in an attempt to not lose so badly, but he refused to admit it.  
“I demand a rematch!”  
Cullen raised his hands, palms forward, “if you want to be beaten again, sure,” Dorian sneered at him, “but first, some lunch.”  
Dorian huffed, “yes. Shame on you for humiliating your guest, all whilst letting him starve!”  
Cullen smiled, rolling his eyes. Dorian grinned back, settling back on the couch as Cullen stood, leaving the room. Despite his worries, and his earlier reservations about Cullen, Dorian was finding that he was actually enjoying himself. It was still a little awkward, though he had to wonder if that perhaps was just Cullen.  
Still smiling to himself, Dorian reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He could hear Cullen banging around in the kitchen, sounding as if he’d take at least a little while. Dorian scrolled to Rilienus’ contact, excited to tell him that he may have made a friend. He mashed the ‘call’ button, putting the phone to his ear. The phone rang once, twice, three times, four. Dorian felt his heart sinking as the phone continued to trill in his ear. The smile had completely fallen from his face when the automated voice told him to leave a message. He hung up, hand falling limply in his lap. He’d left voice mails, text messages, cute little snapchats. He was sure that Rilienus’ phone was filled with him after how much he’d been trying to contact him. And yet, four days of silence. Mood decidedly dampened, Dorian shoved his phone back into his pocket, blinking against the stinging in his eyes.  
“Bon appetit!” Cullen announced his return loudly, carting two plates and a bottle of soft drink with him, glasses dangling precariously by their rims between his fingers.  
Dorian tried to force himself to forget about Rilienius for the time being, turning to face Cullen, “Orlesian is the language of the pompous.”  
“Oh” Cullen said simply, setting down the plates and glasses onto the table, “then why don’t you speak it?”  
Dorian smirked, “hilarious. What have you made for me?”  
Cullen pushed a plate of green pasta forwards, alongside a glass full of dark, bubbling liquid, “this is fettuccini, with a stir-through of the finest basil pesto, ground and made in the forests of Antiva. Served with a side of Coke, bottled in the Free Marches and aged two days.”  
Dorian giggled, finding a growing appreciation for Cullen’s goofiness. He spun his fork around in his pasta, eating it in an exaggerated manner, “my, it’s exquisite!”  
Cullen beamed, taking a bow before sitting down on the couch beside Dorian, picking up his own food. They ate in silence, the only sound the scrape of forks against plates, and the occasional passing car on the street. Something between them had shifted in the space of the day; the tension had dissolved, or some pretence had been dropped. Whatever it was, the quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was amicable.  
“Where are you from?”  
The question was so sudden that Dorian almost dropped his plate, which he was in the process of putting down on the table. He turned to Cullen, smirking, “that’s a little forward, don’t you think?”  
Cullen blushed, eyes dropping to his lap, “what school did you come from, I mean” he looked up again, “before you came to Our Lady?”  
“Calthora Virethen Academy for Boys.”  
Cullen nodded slowly, a completely blank look on his face. Dorian laughed, rolling his eyes, “it’s in Tevinter.”  
“Ah” Cullen said, finally understanding, “now that you’ve said it, it’s obvious.”  
Dorian raised his eyebrows, “what gave me away? The accent? My devastating good looks? Or was it the fact that I actually bathe?”  
Cullen stuck his tongue out, elbowing Dorian in the side. Dorian let out a yelp, slapping Cullen’s thigh in response. The blond laughed, and though Dorian tried to scowl, he could feel the smile fighting to show on his face.  
“I feel sorry for your siblings” Cullen winced, rubbing his thigh where Dorian had slapped it, “what?”  
Dorian laughed, rolling his eyes, “my parents could barely stand each other long enough to have me, I think another child would be too much to ask.”  
“Oh.”  
Cullen had flushed deep red, his fingers twirling anxiously in the hair at the nape of his neck. Dorian’s smile faded, realising how flat his joke had fallen.  
“I’m sorry” Cullen mumbled awkwardly, “I shouldn’t have assumed.”  
“It’s fine!” Dorian assured him, “really. Honestly, I feel like maybe I would have preferred being an only child anyway. I should feel sorry for _you_ , having to share. Putting up with your siblings yelling and fighting, having to do _chores_ …” he trailed off, Cullen’s smile growing ever more strained. The air was thick with uncomfortable tension.  
The silence between them seemed to stretch on for eons, the only sound the almost indiscernible brushing of Cullen’s hair twirling.  
“I should go” Dorian said finally, pushing himself off the lounge.  
To his surprise (and admittedly, his disappointment), Cullen didn’t fight him. He stood up as well, the old lounge creaking with relief.  
“I’ll drive you home.”  
Dorian was tempted to decline the offer, sure that the car trip would manage to be as awkward, if not more, than the past ten minutes, but the thought of walking half an hour uphill was slightly more unappealing.  
“Thank you” he murmured.  


***  


Dorian decided that he was going to become a clairvoyant, seeing as his prediction about the car ride home had been spot-on. Every squeak of the suspension, every creak of the leather bench seat, every tiny squeal of the brakes was deafening against the silence that filled the cab. Suddenly, the warmth and comfort that had been so thick between them had evaporated; it was as if they were back in detention on the very first day they talked.  
It wasn’t that Dorian considered Cullen a friend, no, that was too far a stretch, considering that he’d only decided he liked the boy enough to be civil to him the day before, but he’d hoped he could be. It had turned out that Cullen was smarter than he'd given him credit for, and genuinely enjoyable to be around. Alas, it seemed they were back at square one.  
It wasn’t like Dorian wasn’t used to upsetting people. That was often his goal. Each comment, each jab meant to make someone bristle, to dig under their skin. Sure, he often made jokes to make people laugh, but more often than not they were for his own entertainment. He wondered when he’d lost control of his own mouth, for surely he had, seeing as how he’d managed to completely fuck up his chance of friendship with Cullen with one flat joke. He pressed his forehead against the window, feeling utterly sorry for himself.  
When Cullen pulled up outside his house, Dorian was quick to jump out. He shot a small, “thank you” over his shoulder, making a beeline for his front door, eager to get up to his room and mope.  
“Hey!”  
Dorian turned around, eyes going wide. Cullen was leaning out of the passenger window, looking intently at him, a shy smile on his face.  
“I was wondering, um” he ducked his head, screwing his face up, “if I could grab your number?”  
Dorian bounded back over, too relieved to feel ridiculous. He snatched Cullen’s phone from his hand, tapping in his number quickly, sending himself a text. He handed the phone back to Cullen, his grin stretching from ear to ear.  
Cullen looked down at the phone, his own smile much smaller, yet full of warmth. The look he gave Dorian sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach.  
“We should hang out again soon” Cullen said softly, “today was fun.”  
Dorian managed not to explode with happiness, instead letting his smile turn a little more coy, “don’t be so sure, Rutherford. Today was just a courtesy.”  
“Mhm” Cullen hummed, rolling his eyes, “I doubt that you’ll be able to leave me as the chess master.”  
Dorian snorted derisively, “that confidence won’t last.”  
Cullen waved him off, still chuckling to himself. Dorian gave him a final wave, the roar of Cullen’s truck fading as he wandered up his front path, feeling truly happy for the first time since he had arrived in Ferelden.


	4. It's All Horridly Unfair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the supportive comments on the last chapter! It's really nice knowing so many people are understanding and caring.
> 
> Here's a longer chapter to (hopefully) help tide you over til the next update.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and enjoy!

While Dorian and his family were somewhat settled in Ferelden, their move to the country had been anything but easy. Dorian had been woken up one morning to the sound of yelling. While not unusual in itself, the multiple voices clashing with his parents’ had been. He could hear things being thrown around, along with the skittering of panicked footsteps. The Head of Housestaff had rushed into Dorian’s room, suitcases in his arms, offering Dorian a sympathetic look as he began rifling through his wardrobe. What had followed had been a whirlwind of packing, his parents screaming at both him and the housekeepers as they scurried about. He’d been bundled into a car, his parents bickering next to him, either snapping at his questions or ignoring him outright. It was only as they arrived at the airport he’d realised where they were going.  
“Ferelden?” he’d cried, appalled. His mother had patted his arm, her face completely blank. His father had shot him a look, silencing him.   
They flew economy, which was a far cry from the first-class treatment Dorian had been used to. Squished up next to some stranger, staring out of the window, helpless as the lights of Minrathous disappeared as they climbed higher into the sky. Dorian was completely resigned once they had disembarked after four hours in Starkhaven, allowing his parents to drag him onto another plane. They touched down in Denerim after another six hours, and without so much as a pause for Dorian to visit the bathroom, they climbed into a car and drove.   
Dorian had tried to listen to his parents’ conversation, which seemed to switch from talking to each other to yelling into phones incessantly, but eventually he couldn’t keep up with the endless stream of Common and Tevene, and he gave up. He’d pressed his forehead up against the window, the blurred countryside zipping past, and let himself sleep.   
They’d stayed with a nice elven woman, Fiona. She had a small house on the edges of Redcliffe, which Dorian’s parents had been quick to criticise. She’d seemed uncomfortable around Halward and Aquina, whom she ran around for, collecting their luggage and making them dinner. Dorian stood with her while she cooked, talking to her quietly while his parents argued in the living room.  
“Why are you helping us?” he’d asked.  
She’d given him a sad smile, pausing her task of cutting vegetables, “a… friend of theirs took me in when no one else would. I am doing this as a favour to them.”  
Dorian had tried to ask her more, to push for details, but she remained tight-lipped, and he’d eventually given up.  
His parents wouldn’t answer his questions, except to say that they wouldn’t be going back. Ferelden was his new home. Dorian had thrown a fit at that, his newfound friendship with Fiona the only thing that had stopped him from setting the couch his father sat on aflame. She had slipped quietly into the bedroom he stormed into, sitting down on the bed next to him.   
“Dorian” she murmured, “you cannot be a mage anymore.”  
He’d looked at her in confusion, “you know as well as I do-“  
She shook her head, “you misunderstand me. This is not Tevinter. Mages are not revered here. They are not liked. They are feared. You can’t let anyone know what you are.”  
That night Dorian cried, letting little lights swirl over his head, leaving bright trails in their wake. Magic was so big a part of him, such an intrinsic part of his life, that the thought of denying it was painful.   
They’d stayed with Fiona for almost three months, over the course of which Dorian grew more agitated. He was forced to stay within the house while they waited for their immigration papers- forged, of course- to be processed. Dorian hadn’t been privy to much, but from what he could glean from his parents’ hushed arguments, his father had been caught doing something illegal, and had pissed off someone very powerful. He’d savoured that morsel of information for as long as he could until it offered no more entertainment, and then, once again, he was bored. He had felt as if he was going mad, constantly staring at the same light blue walls. Fiona had shelves upon shelves of books, but most of which were written in Orlesian, of which Dorian’s understanding was clunky at best. What few books were written in Common he quickly read, and he was once again left to his own devices.   
Only after four months and finally moving into their own house did Aquina finally relent, allowing Dorian to try and find a job. He had pestered for weeks, unable to go to school while the last of their papers were processed, and with no money while access to the Pavus fortune was somewhat… compromised. All it had taken was a particularly dramatic tantrum, alongside threatening to tell Halward about Aquina’s dalliance with Erimond, and he was freed upon Redcliffe.   


***  


_Nugs and Nibbles_ was bustling, and Dorian was barely keeping up. He wove in and out of the tables, placing mugs and plates in front of waiting patrons, flashing them quick smiles before darting back to the back of the café. It had taken a while to get used to working, to having to be at so many different people’s beck and call, but once he’d settled in, he’d realised he loved the rush.   
Sera shoved another two mugs at him, brushing a strand of wild, straw-like hair behind her long ear. She could barely see over the top of the coffee machine, her big grey eyes alight with mischief.   
“For your favourite customers” she said, wicked grin showing off the gap between her teeth.   
Dorian poked his tongue out at her, grabbing the mugs and striding off towards the door. His ‘favourites’ sat outside, chatting quietly to themselves. The Chantry Mother looked up at his approach, pursing her lips. They’d had an altercation or two in the past, and Dorian had found it difficult to hold his tongue. She particularly hadn’t appreciated the helpful tip he’d given her about dressing for her shape; he couldn’t help the fact that the long Chantry dresses were completely unflattering. He set down the mugs with a tight smile, ignoring the glare that the Sister behind him was aiming at him.  
 Dorian had never had a good relationship with the cleric; perhaps it was tied to his less-than-pleasant Sunday school teacher scolding him every other week. That, or the verses he’d been made to recite for hours after confessing to having a crush on a boy.   
“Enjoy” he said, barely able to contain the vitriol in his voice before spinning on his heel, stalking back inside the café.   
The service bell rang out through the crowded room, and Dorian darted into the kitchen. Josephine was up to her elbows in dough, kneading it furiously, an oven alarming behind her. She looked up as he came in, jerking her head towards the other side of the kitchen, a loose curl bobbing with her movement. Dorian followed her gesture, finding Cole standing over the stovetop, his spindly fingers carefully ladling up a few bowls of soup.   
“It’s for the man who misses home” he said quietly, watery blue eyes wide, “she smelled like lilac and gooseberries.”  
Initially, Dorian had been less than comfortable around Cole and his oddities. Now, he couldn’t imagine _Nugs_ without him. Though, perhaps he would find it easier to give people correct orders if they had a better system of identifying customers. On his way back out to the dining room, Dorian called out to Leliana, who was surveying the customers from behind the register. She looked up, pointing to a man sitting near the window with a smile. Dorian nodded in thanks, stepping out from behind the counter.   
“Oi!”   
He spun around, rolling his eyes at the sight of Sera all but throwing him another mug.  
“Same table.”  
If not for his full hands, he would have made a rude gesture. He glared at her, turning back around, only to collide with someone. Hot soup and coffee coated him, soaking through his shirt and running down his bare forearms. The bowl fell to the ground with a clatter, while the mug completely shattered.  
“Vishante kaffas!” he cried, skin burning.   
“I’m sorry!” came a small voice from above him.  
Dorian gritted his teeth, “it’s fine, don’t-“ he looked up, immediately scowling. Cullen stood over him, eyes wide, hands hovering awkwardly near Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian’s skin still prickled painfully, and his soaked-through t-shirt was beginning to grow cold. Newfound friendship be damned, Dorian was pissed.  
Cullen made a half-hearted attempt to pat Dorian dry, hands fluttering uselessly, “I’m so sorry, Dorian. Are you okay?”  
As the pain subsided somewhat, Dorian became more aware of the other customers, who were watching their exchange. He swallowed his anger, taking a deep breath.  
“I’m fine.”  
Cullen grimaced, managing to look ridiculously like a kicked puppy, “I’ll pay for the stuff I broke.”  
“Don’t worry” Dorian snapped, unable to keep his irritation fully in-check. Before Cullen could say anything else, he turned on his heel, storming back behind the counter. Leliana gave him a sympathetic look, grabbing a mop as she moved towards the mess on the floor.   
He darted into the employee bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He peeled off his work shirt, face twisting in disgust as it stuck to his skin. His arms were sticky with drying coffee, and he grumbled to himself as he scrubbed them in the tiny sink.   
“Dorian?”  
The door creaked open, and Dorian wrapped his arms around his bare torso, “don’t come in!”  
“I’m sorry!” Josephine squeaked, shutting the door again, “is there anything I can do to help?”  
Dorian leant against the sink, a lock of crusty, coffee-soaked hair flopping down. He looked at his work shirt, which was balled up in the basin, the printed nug speckled with pumpkin soup.  
“Another shirt would be great.”  
After ten minutes, thorough scrubbing and a quick change, Dorian felt somewhat clean. His pants were stiff in patches with dried food, and he was in a decidedly worse mood than he had been throughout the day, but he was able to get back to work, and that was something, at least. He left the bathroom, making his way back out to the dining room. Sera caught his elbow as he passed her.  
“Do you need my bees?” even though her voice was barely more than a whisper, Leliana glanced over, a dangerous glint in her eye.   
Dorian laughed, despite his foul mood, “thank you for the offer, but I can handle this.”  
He’d barely taken five steps past the counter when Cullen jumped up from a table, darting over to him.  
“I’m so sorry, Dorian!” he blurted out, “are you okay? I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?”  
Dorian stepped back, eyeing him warily. He’d been prepared to chew Cullen out, but he was so ridiculously apologetic that he found it hard to stay mad.  
“You’re not going to cover me in more food, are you?”  
Cullen laughed nervously, “ah, no. Sorry.”   
Dorian raised an eyebrow, humming thoughtfully. He turned to the table next to him, beginning to collect up the dirty plates left on it. He could feel Cullen hovering behind him, awkward energy radiating off of him. He looked over his shoulder, arms laden with dishes, “what?”  
Cullen didn’t respond, trailing behind him as he walked back towards the kitchen, stopping at the counter. As he made his way back out after dumping the dishes, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Cullen was slowly sidling away from Sera, who was glaring at him over the coffee machine. Dorian was tempted to let him suffer, but then he noticed the sopping wet rag in the elf’s hands, and decided to step in before she could do anything with it.   
He wandered over to the register, taking over for Leliana, who was chatting to a regular out on the floor. Cullen looked relieved, scurrying over to him. Dorian rested his chin on his entwined fingers, looking at Cullen expectantly, “well?”  
Instantly, Cullen looked nervous, his eyes dropping to the floor, “would you… um…  like to see a movie? I’ll pay. To make up for, y’know…” he gestured to the clean shirt that Dorian was wearing, which was at least two sizes too big for him, “and we can grab some dinner, too. If you want.”  
Dorian narrowed his eyes, considering Cullen. Even after being covered in soup and coffee, Dorian had to admit he didn’t mind the thought of hanging out with the blond idiot.    
“Well” he drawled, “it better be a damned good dinner to make up for the fact that I have to work the rest of my shift in sticky pants.”  
Cullen giggled, and Dorian rolled his eyes, “you’re a child, Cullen.”  
Cullen’s face transformed into mock solemnity so quickly that for a brief moment Dorian thought he’d offended him, “I swear, by the Maker, that it will be the best meal you’ve ever had.”  
Dorian chuckled, his eyes dropping down to the takeaway cup in Cullen’s hands, “Sera actually made _you_ a coffee?”  
“Heh” Cullen looked down at the little paper cup, “she, ah, put salt in it.”  
Dorian looked over at the skinny elf, who shot him a grin, hands busy with another order. He smiled back, mouthing a ‘thank you’.  
“Hey, I saw th-“  
“I finish at six” Dorian said quickly, cutting Cullen off, “pick me up out the front. Now shoo” he waved Cullen away, preparing the bill for a lady who was approaching the counter. Cullen poked his tongue out at Dorian, blushing tomato red when the woman at the counter caught him. He turned on his heel, striding out of the café. Dorian watched him go, unable to stop himself from smiling, even when Sera bounced an empty takeaway cup off his head.

 

***  


If there was anything that Dorian had to thank Leliana for, other than employing him for three months, it was his newfound hatred for Orlesian ballads. Her playlist was blasting over the café speakers, as it did every Sunday, some sad woman warbling incessantly. Dorian wiped down tables as fast as possible, finding it difficult not to use magic to speed up the process.   
“Fancy Pants is sure excited” Sera was draped across the counter, cleaning the glass display case, her feet in the air behind her, “gonna go snog with Clumsy?”  
Dorian lobbed his roll of paper towels at her, making her snicker wickedly as it landed on the floor, at least four feet short of its mark.   
Leliana wandered out from the kitchen, untying her apron. Josephine trailed out behind her, dragging a dirty Cole behind her. His shirt was stained, his hair wet and out of his eyes for once, a book clutched in his hands.  
“Cole” Leliana sighed, “why do you have that?”  
The book was waterlogged, the pages so soaked that the book wouldn’t close. Cole was almost cradling it.   
“It belonged to her” he murmured, staring down at the ruined cover, “she gave it to her as a present, and she lost it. It made her feel warm inside. She misses it.”  
Josephine rubbed the tops of Cole’s arms, “I promised we would find a new copy in the bookstore, but he refused to part with it. It, and its… smell… will be with us until we can find a new one.”  
Leliana gave the pair an exasperated smile, drawing closer, “Josie, you’re far too soft-hearted.”  
Josie leaned against Leliana’s chest, “and that is why I have you.”  
Sera made a gagging sound, and Dorian turned away, going back to his cleaning. He’d barely touched the wet rag to the table when Leliana called him.  
“Dorian.”  
He looked up at Leliana, “hmm?”  
“Why are you still here?”  
Dorian tilted his head in confusion, holding up his rag, “I was-“  
She waved her hands dismissively, “go. I don’t want to keep your date waiting.”  
Dorian didn’t know what was worse, the fact that Leliana had referred to Cullen as his date, or the fact that she was completely serious in it.   
“Not a date!” he grumbled, mostly to himself, “I have a boyfriend!”   
The rumble of an idling engine greeted Dorian as he left the café, Cullen’s truck sitting just out the front. Cullen had his head down, blond hair bobbing when he looked up at Dorian’s arrival. Dorian hoisted himself up into the truck, settling down on the creaky leather seat. Cullen closed the book he’d been reading, throwing it up onto the dash as he shifted into gear.  
“I didn’t know you worked at _Nugs_ ” Cullen said, nonchalantly, pulling off the curb, “I haven’t seen you there before.”  
Dorian shrugged, “I didn’t know you went there. It doesn’t seem like your… thing.”  
Cullen huffed a laugh, “I love how you have such intimate knowledge of my ‘thing’ after only knowing me for a month,” Dorian’s mouth quirked and Cullen shot him a look, “I like to grab a hot chocolate on my way home from the library.”  
Dorian raised his eyebrows, “ _You_ got to the library?”  
They pulled up to a red to a red light, and Cullen took the opportunity to shoot Dorian a withering look. Dorian poked his tongue out, grabbing the book on the dashboard. He quickly flicked through _The Road_ , scanning the pages.  
“No pictures.”  
Cullen snorted as he put the car in motion again, rolling through the green light, “despite common misconceptions, I can read.”  
Dorian giggled, gently placing the book back on the dashboard. He settled back on the chair, watching the world outside whip past the window. The silence that stretched between the pair was nice, natural. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt comfortable sitting in silence with someone. Someone who wasn’t Felix, that was. Dorian was reluctant to read too much into that, though. As easy as things had ended up being with Cullen, there was always room for one of them to fuck it up.  
“Hey” he said quietly, “I’m sorry for being an arse earlier.”  
Cullen flashed him a look of disbelief, “I mean… I _did_ cover you in boiling hot liquid.”  
Dorian sighed, shifting to rest his back against the door, “not just today. I can be a little cagey.”  
“I don’t mind” Cullen shrugged, “I still like you.”  
Dorian hid the small smile that curled his lips, his cheeks warming just a little. Cullen didn’t seem to notice, his eyes on the road.  
The drive was short, and before long they were pulling into the car park of a little cinema, looking- like much of the town- a little run-down. Cullen turned off the engine and they jumped out of the car, wandering over to the cinema. It was fairly quiet, only a few other cars around. The green of the neon sign bathed the front in an eerie light. Dorian jokingly wondered if Cullen really _was_ taking him to see a movie, or if he was the unknowing sacrifice being led into a cult ritual. They walked through the glass doors, and Dorian tried to pretend that he wasn’t the tiniest bit relieved that it was the former.   
A bored-looking dwarf sat behind the counter, her messy red hair tied in a bun, eyes on her phone. Dorian felt a little sorry for her; the foyer was empty, and he could only imagine how slow her shift had been. She lazily lifted her eyes when they approached, carrying out the transaction with barely a word to the pair of them before she returned her attention to her phone.  
“What are we seeing?” Dorian asked, peeking at the tickets Cullen held, “ _The Werewolf of Wycome?_ ”  
Cullen gave him a sheepish look, “not a fan of horror?”  
Dorian huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes, “werewolves are hardly scary, Cullen.”  
“You’ve obviously never seen the ones around here” Cullen scoffed. Dorian squinted at him, unable to tell if he was joking.  
They wandered into the cinema, Cullen making a beeline for the back seats. The ground was a little sticky with spilled soft drink, stale popcorn squelching under their feet. Dorian was slowly getting used to the distinctly different feel of Ferelden. As he settled into his seat, he had a moment of wishing for his private cinema; he missed his wide, cushy seats.  
As the lights went down, Dorian realised the cinema was empty besides he and Cullen. Cullen didn’t seem to notice, his eyes on the screen, but for some reason Dorian couldn’t focus on anything else. It was like a sudden tension filled the room, an immovability in the air that was strongest between the pair. Dorian shifted uncomfortably, feeling like Cullen was throwing off an intense amount of heat, bathing him in it. It was like electricity.   
Dorian found he barely paid any attention to the film, despite how loud the shrieks of the werewolf’s victims were. He was so intensely aware of Cullen right beside him that it was almost painful. He fidgeted and readjusted himself constantly, anxiety scratching the inside of his chest, making his throat feel thick. He went to lean on the armrest, and his fingers brushed against the back of Cullen’s hand. It felt like he had been shocked. He snatched his hand away, tucking it firmly on his lap. Dorian could feel Cullen’s curious gaze on him, heavy as it lingered, but thankfully another damsel screamed, and the blond’s attention was snatched back by the movie.   
He spent the rest of the film with his eyes locked on the screen, forcing himself to become invested in the story. From what he could gather, most of the town had died, and the only two left alive were the brave, human protagonist, and his buxom elven girlfriend, whom he spent much of his time carrying around in his muscular arms. If Dorian hadn’t been so intent on ­ _not_ paying attention to Cullen, he would have made some disparaging remark about the quality of the film. It was all he could do to roll his eyes to himself as the werewolf was finally slain.   
When the credits- finally- rolled, and the lights came on, it was like a weight had been lifted off Dorian’s chest. The tension between he and Cullen dissipated in an instant, and he found himself able to relax again.  
“That was awful.”  
Cullen turned to him, eyes alight with humour, “Maker, wasn’t it?”  
Dorian laughed, relieved that he could once again breathe normally. He stretched out, joints popping loudly after having sat still for so long. With the lights up, Dorian felt silly for how tense he had been. Cullen hadn’t been doing anything, there wasn’t anything _there_. Two friends just… hanging out. Dorian cringed at his internal phrasing, at the same time cursing his co-workers teasing for planting such annoying thoughts in his head.   
“So…” Cullen started, pushing himself up, “pizza?”  
Dorian flashed him a smile, making a deliberate move to push all stupid thoughts from his head, “of course. As long as you’re paying.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, shrugging on his jacket, “of course.”

 

***  


Dorian slipped through his front door, shutting it quietly behind him. He’d made Cullen park down the street in an attempt to mask his arrival. It was no matter. He hadn’t even made it to the foot of the stairs when his father appeared in the doorway to his study.  
“Dorian” he growled, “where have you been?”  
Dorian’s cheeks went hot, a surge of adrenaline rushing through him. He refused to turn around, continuing up the stairs, “I was at work.”  
Before Halward could respond, Dorian darted up the stairs, shutting his bedroom door quickly behind him. He sat down on his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. A small part of him hoped that Halward would leave it at that, but as his bedroom door was thrown open, he knew it was stupid to hope. He ducked his head, keeping his eyes turned down.  
“You finished at six” Halward thundered, hands gripping the end of Dorian’s bed, “and yet you turn up at midnight. Where have you been, Dorian?”  
Dorian didn’t look up, “I was with a friend.”  
Halward huffed, hanging his head, “six hours, Dorian. Six hours and we hear nothing from you. I was…” Dorian peeked timidly up at his father. He looked tired, the lines in his face far more pronounced than Dorian could remember. Guilt spiked in his stomach.  
“I’m sorry” he murmured.   
Halward gave him a tight smile, stepping back, “I don’t want you having friends. Not here.”  
Dorian’s head snapped up, “what?”  
“It’s bad enough that you associate with that Alexius boy” Halward growled, the softness leaving his voice, “I will not have you consorting with Southerners. You’re insolent enough without their influence. This is a fresh start, I will not have you wasting it.”  
The guilt that Dorian had been feeling drained completely from him, along with the last of his good mood. He stared at his father, incredulous, “so you want me to be miserable? _You_ brought me to this shithole of a country. The least you can do is let me have someone to stop me from going crazy.”  
Halward shook his head, running a hand through his greying hair. He turned, making to leave Dorian’s room.  
“This is bullshit!” Dorian cried, eyes stinging, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”  
Halward stopped, shoulders squaring, “don’t test me, boy. We moved once, we can move again. You are a Pavus. I don’t want you squandering your potential with people that are beneath you.”  
The door clicked shut behind Halward as he swept out. Dorian threw himself back against his pillows, angrily wiping at the few tears that had managed to escape. He knew he should be used to his father, but somehow that didn’t help. He grabbed a pillow, shoving it against his face. He wanted to scream, but he found himself holding it there, letting his face grow hot, his breath becoming shallower until he let it drop. He sucked in a deep breath, his lungs expanding in relief. He felt somewhat calmer, the wetness wiped from his eyes, black now staining the pillow.  
He pulled his duvet up over his knees, tugging his phone out from his pocket. It almost felt useless to try, but Dorian still found himself scrolling to Rilienus’ contact and pressing ‘call’.  
“Hello?”  
Rilienus picked up after only two rings, and Dorian let out a soft sigh at the sound of his voice. It had only been a few weeks since their last call, but it still felt like the first time in months. Rilienus’ voice was as smooth as always, rich like honey.   
“Ril” Dorian breathed, unable to stop a smile from curling his lips, “I missed you so much.”  
The sound coming from Rilienus’ end was almost silent. The only thing Dorian could hear apart from Rilienus’ quiet breaths was the tapping of a keyboard and faint music.   
“I missed you too, babe” Rilienus replied, his voice warm, “you have to forgive me for not being around. My mentor has been putting so much work on me, I can barely move for how much I have to do.”  
Dorian had thought he’d been upset, hurt, at Rilienus’ silence. But, with his boyfriend’s explanation, and the sound of his quiet voice whispering in his ear, he decided it didn’t matter.   
“It’s okay” he murmured, “I’m just glad I can talk to you.”  
There was a pause, and Dorian could almost imagine himself with Rilienus. Both curled up on his wide, plush couch, the illumination of the TV the only light in the apartment, bathing them in its glow as they twisted themselves together, hands searching, lips-  
“What’s wrong?”  
The mental image was shattered, and Dorian was back in his own bed. He sighed, “I hate it here. I miss home every single day.”  
Rilienus let out a soft hum, “I wish I could see you again. My bed is decidedly empty without you.”  
Dorian’s breath hitched a little, “maybe you could come here?”  
“Maybe.”  
Dorian could hear the clear ‘no’ in Rilienus’ voice, though he tried not to. He fiddled with the edge of his duvet, “we’ll talk about it later, hm?”  
“Of course” Rilienus assured him, “I need to go now, though. My dissertation is due soon, and I feel as if I’m about to be buried in an avalanche of papers in need of marking.”  
Dorian felt himself deflate. Barely five minutes, not even really a conversation. His chest ached with hurt, but he didn’t let it change his tone, “I understand. Don’t work yourself too hard.”  
Rilienus chuckled, “I swear I won’t.”  
“I love you” Dorian murmured.  
“You too, Dorian” Rilienus replied softly, “goodnight.”  
The phone beeped in Dorian’s ear as the call ended. Somehow, he felt even worse than he had before. When he and Rilienus talked, it was almost as if they were in the same room, the same space, almost touching. He wanted so desperately to be held in his lover’s firm arms, the bristle of Rilienus’ stubble brushing against his throat. He burrowed down into his covers, cocooning himself in them. He just wanted the day to be over.

 

***  


Dorian had made himself quite the nest under his favourite tree at school. The grass underneath it was thick and soft, and he’d almost worn a little groove into the trunk of the great oak. He’d definitely claimed it, most of the other students now giving it a wide berth, especially when he was there. He’d heard whisperings that he’d somehow placed blood magic on the tree that cursed anyone else that sat there, and he was in no hurry to dispel the rumours.   
He sat in his ‘cursed’ spot, legs crossed, heavy book open on his lap. It was surprisingly warm for Ferelden, though that term was used _extremely_ loosely, and Dorian had the sleeves of his blazer pushed up to his elbows. He didn’t have to look up at the sound of someone sitting next to him, Cullen’s familiar form resting beside him against the tree.  
Dorian smiled, eyes still on the page, “not sick of me yet?”  
Cullen laughed, “no, but I’m surprised you’re not sick of…” he tilted his head, reading the spine of Dorian’s book, “Brother Genitivi.”  
Dorian huffed, letting the book fall, “Mr Vael is determined to ‘improve’ my knowledge.” He turned, pouting at Cullen, “I failed a quiz.”  
Cullen patted his shoulder sympathetically, “you could just ask me for help.”  
Dorian raised an eyebrow, snapping the book shut and putting it in his bag.   
“I know most of it by heart” Cullen said with a shrug, “ _as it is the duty of all true sons of the Chantry to make the Chant heard from every corner of the world, I made it my mission to find as many corners of the world as possible. The Maker can hardly expect us to do one without the other_.”  
Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes, “aren’t you the Chantry schoolboy.”  
Cullen scowled, opening his mouth to retort.  
“Cully!”  
Trevelyan bounced up to them, tainting Dorian’s spot. Her knee length tartan skirt was pristine, her blouse ironed perfectly over her flat chest. She didn’t even look at Dorian, practically skipping over to Cullen, plopping herself down on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his hair.   
Cullen had blushed crimson, “hey, Sophia.”  
Dorian couldn’t help but watch the display with a sense of disgusted interest, the same way someone would watch a bug eat its mate. Cullen was absently patting Trevelyan’s back as she slathered his throat with kisses.   
“I missed you” she cooed, stockinged legs curled up tight, her fingers twining with Cullen’s ringlets, “so much.”  
Cullen laughed awkwardly, “it’s only been one period, Soph.”  
She pouted, “I know. But Cully, it felt like forever.”  
She then leaned in, catching Cullen’s lips in a kiss. Dorian almost couldn’t look away as the pair kissed deeply, a quiet slurping assaulting his ears. They parted, and Trevelyan rested against Cullen’s chest, finally acknowledging Dorian. The saccharine smile fell from her face, her eyes steely.   
“Why are you with the blood mage?”  
Cullen tensed, face screwing up. Dorian just scoffed, leaning forwards.   
“Better a blood mage” he began, voice as sweet as possible, “than a vapid idiot.”  
Trevelyan’s eyes widened, her bottom lip jutting out. Dorian could see the tears beginning to well and was taken aback. It was far from his best insult, and nowhere near the rudest. Trevelyan pushed herself off Cullen’s lap, storming off, her plaited hair bouncing on her shoulders as she rushed away.   
“Dorian” Cullen hissed, exasperated.  
 He shot up, throwing his bag onto his shoulder and chasing after Trevelyan. Dorian watched them both go, feeling guilty amusement. He felt bad for Cullen, and the mess he’d surely have to deal with, but how could he blame him? They were friends now, solid in that bond, and he was sure something as silly as Cullen’s ridiculous woman-child of a partner wouldn’t come between them.   
He fished the _Brother Gentivi_ back out of his bag, opening it to the page he was on. He rested back against his tree, nestled further into his blazer, and began to read.  


	5. Just Two Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it has well and truly been A While since this fic updated. Sorry about that! Uni is hell, but I'm almost finished this semester, so hopefully updates should come quicker after I'm done!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! Also, I haven't done a slow burn before, so I'm not sure if I'm doing it right. Either way, enjoy! I love all of you for reading. It makes me really happy knowing people like my silly stories.

“… and the barbarians crossed the Waking Sea on ships like the one in front of you…”  
Rainier’s voice carried over the sea of students, his droning inescapable. Dorian had thought he loved history unconditionally, but it seemed that Rainier had a talent for making even the Exalted Marches boring.   
Dorian shoved his hands into his pockets, looking up at the ship in front of him. It was huge, easily filling the cavernous room with its decayed hull. A buxom woman adorned the maidenhead, the iron blue with age. He wondered whether she had been what distracted the Imperium soldiers long enough to invade from the canal. He chuckled to himself.  
“What is so funny?”   
Dorian turned, a girl with dark, cropped hair and a stern face was looking at him. An equally unamused ginger girl stood next to him, a polished ‘Head Girl’ badge gleaming on her blazer. He looked them up and down, their _Our Lady_ uniforms neat and creaseless.   
“Excuse me?”  
The short-haired girl crossed her arms, her starched blazer making her shoulders straight and broad, “you think that Andraste’s death is amusing?”  
“Maker, no” Dorian gasped, raising his hands in surrender, “I was merely wondering to myself if Andraste had used her Maker-given assets to blind her enemies.”  
The girls’ eyes widened. The dark-haired girl blushed, while the ginger girl stifled a giggle behind her freckled hand. Dorian grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. The ginger girl smiled back, flicking her long plait over her shoulder.  
“I’m Aveline” her voice was deep, but warm. This dark-haired girl made a noise of disgust, “and this is Cassandra.”  
Cassandra huffed, narrowing her eyes, “I do not find much humour in blasphemy.”  
Aveline rolled her eyes, but Dorian flashed Cassandra a wide smile, “of course not, darling. I’ll be sure to keep my blasphemy between myself and our dear Maker.”  
“Dorian!”  
Dorian turned, meeting Rainier’s stony glare, “are you paying attention?”  
“Of course, sir”  
Rainier rolled his weight back onto his heel, arms crossing tightly over his chest. His bushy eyebrows furrowed low over his grey eyes, “alright. What did I just say?”  
Dorian’s smile didn’t falter, “I haven’t the faintest clue, sir.” Rainier didn’t seem to find the humour in it.  
“What island” he drawled, “was the Imperium forced to abandon during the first Exalted March?”  
Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Estwatch.”  
Rainier’s eyes widened for a second before narrowing. He harrumphed, turning back to the class, “you have an hour and a half of free time. I expect you all back at the entrance at _exactly_ one o’clock.”  
The class began to disperse, clumps of blue blazered students filtering off in various directions. Dorian looked around, trying to decide where to go.   
“Dorian?” Aveline was looking at him expectantly, Cassandra looking displeased at her side, “would you like to walk around with us?”  
Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise, and it felt as if butterflies were battering against his stomach. Aveline’s smile seemed genuine, even if Cassandra was looking dour by her side. Dorian nervously returned her smile, “sure.”  
They moved away as a little group, Cassandra clomping a step or two behind them. Dorian played with a thread inside his pocket, anxious energy coiled up inside him.  
“I can’t believe you talked back to Mr Rainier” Aveline murmured.   
Dorian shrugged, “he’s a ponce.”  
Aveline gasped.   
“That’s rich” Cassandra drawled from behind them, “coming from you.”  
Dorian peeked over his shoulder, poking his tongue out at Cassandra. She looked as if she wanted to rip it out of his mouth. “What is the Head Girl doing, wanting to talk to a misfit such as myself?” he asked, turning back to Aveline.   
She flushed, ducking her head, “I-“  
Cassandra cut in, “she has a weakness for troublemakers. Hawke-“  
Aveline flashed Cassandra a sharp look, silencing her.  
They turned left, entering a room filled with bones. The massive skeletons of dragons loomed over them, their monstrous jaws open, ready to swallow them. As Dorian looked up at the rows of giant, sharp teeth, he couldn’t help but be thankful that what few dragons were left were safely in captivity.   
“It’s him!” Cassandra hissed. Dorian turned just in time to see her duck behind a glass display case, Aveline watching her with amusement. He followed Cassandra’s anxious gaze, eyes landing on Cullen, standing on the other side of the room. He raised his hand, catching his friend’s attention, gesturing him over.  
Cassandra gasped, “ _you’re_ friends with _him_?”  
He gave her a smug grin, “I am, why?”  
“Cassie has a huge cru-“  
“Aveline!”  
Cullen strolled up to them, eyeing the girls cautiously, “hey, Dor. Aveline. Cassandra.”  
“Hello, Cullen” Cassandra forced out.  
Cullen nodded, a bemused smile on his face. He turned back to Dorian, “wanna go check out the Templar exhibit?”  
Dorian smiled, nodding. He turned to his new friend, and his reluctant tag-along, “I apologise ladies, but I must depart. It’s been lovely meeting you both.”  
Aveline giggled, waving them off. Cassandra stared after Cullen as they wandered off, looking forlorn. Once they had made it out of hearing range, Cullen turned to Dorian.  
“You’re such a dickhead.”  
Dorian smacked Cullen’s shoulder, “rude.”  
Cullen laughed, putting on a terrible impersonation of Dorian, “I must depart, ladies. It’s been a _pleasure_.”  
Dorian glared at his friend, elbowing him in the ribs. Cullen dodged it, slapping Dorian’s elbow back. Dorian had to talk himself out of sending a small zap into Cullen’s foot. They passed a bench in one of the halls as they wandered, and Cullen stopped, sitting down. Dorian’s footsteps faltered.  
“What happened to the Templar exhibit?”  
Cullen grimaced, patting the seat beside him. Dorian sat down tentatively, tucking his hands nervously in his lap.   
“I’m sorry” Cullen started, fidgeting with his trousers, “about yesterday, I mean. Sophia can be…” he trailed off, eyes of the floor.  
Dorian raised an eyebrow, “a nightmare?”  
Cullen laughed, running a hand through his golden curls, “ahh… something like that.” His hand scratched at the nape of his neck, fingers nervous, “she’s… intense. It took me ages to calm her down.”  
Dorian’s stomach flipped with guilt, he rested back against the chair, “sorry.”  
Cullen looked at him, incredulous, “Maker, don’t be. She was rude first.”  
“True” Dorian hummed, “where is your _delightful_ girlfriend, anyway?”  
Cullen pursed his lips, “she thinks history is a pointless subject. She dropped it last year for dance.”  
Dorian snorted.  
They lapsed into silence, both looking up at the display case across from them. Ancient vases sat under its glass top, black paint shining dully under the fluorescent lights. Dorian reached down into his satchel, pulling out a pen and the question sheet he was meant to be filling out.  
“I can’t believe you were put into Theirin’s group” he whined, “he never collects worksheets.”  
He scribbled some notes onto the blank lines, trying his hardest to pull scraps of information from the back of his mind. He stared at the vases in front of him, struggling to remember if it was Maferath or Mahariel that had led the Marches.   
“Hey.”  
He glanced up, finding Cullen staring down at him, a strange expression on his face. He noticed that Cullen’s hand had drifted back to the nape of his neck, and prepared himself for bad news.  
“Would you, um…” Cullen fidgeted, “do you want to stay at my place tonight?”  
Dorian’s heart skipped. He grinned, “of course I do.”  
Cullen beamed, “really?”  
Dorian nodded.   
“Cool.”  
Dorian chuckled, “it is.”  
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even as he returned his gaze to the worksheet on his lap. He still couldn’t remember if it was Mafarel or Maharieth.

 

***  


Dorian darted around his room, grabbing random items of clothing, deodorant, underwear, eyeliner. He shucked off his blazer and trousers, throwing them across his bed, rifling through the clothes in his wardrobe. He threw on a pair of stovepipe jeans and a dark shirt with three quarter sleeves, smoothing his hair back. He could hear Cullen’s truck idling out the front of his house, the rumbling carrying all the way up the stairs. He shoved his feet into a pair of ankle boots, throwing his bag over his shoulder before thundering down the stairs, slamming his bedroom door shut in his haste. He’d almost made it out the front door when it swung open before him, his straight-backed mother stepping inside. He skidded to a halt, shoes squeaking on the tile.  
“Why is that junkheap in my driveway?” she snapped, groomed eyebrows arched.  
Dorian ducked his head sheepishly, taking a deep breath, “I’m staying at my friend, Cullen’s, tonight.”  
Aquina pursed her lips, hands on her hips, “your father wou-“  
“I don’t care what Halward thinks” Dorian interrupted, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, “I’m going.”  
Aquina shot him a dangerous look, her long nails digging into the fabric of her skirt. Dorian held his ground. After a moment, she sighed, the tension dissipating. She snapped her hand, the front door opening behind her. She stepped aside, her high heels clicking, “be good, Dorian.”  
Dorian rushed past her, stumbling when she caught his wrist. He looked back at her, swallowing at the forlorn look on her face. She looked softer, vulnerable. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother without her mask firmly set in place.  
“Please”.  
Dorian grimaced, discomfort prickling under his skin. He nodded, and her grip loosened, her hand swinging back to her side. Dorian turned, bolting out of the open door, the sound of staccato footsteps fading behind him.   
The rusted truck was still idling in the driveway, Cullen tucked down behind the steering wheel. Dorian yanked the door open, pulling himself up into the cab. Cullen looked up from his phone, smiling.  
“Ready?”  
Dorian grinned, “let’s go.”

 

***

As they pulled in front of Cullen’s place, Dorian’s stomach flipped at the sight of another two cars in the driveway. He turned to Cullen, panic fluttering in his chest, “your parents?”  
Cullen patted Dorian’s shoulder, “unfortunately, I don’t live alone.”  
They jumped out of the car, and Dorian felt his shoulders almost shoot up to his ears, awkward energy clamping them tight. Cullen towed him forward, opening the front door and ushering him in. Dorian was greeted by a wall of noise. People talking, music playing, sizzling pots and pans and the mashing of buttons. A boy, not too much younger than them, sat on the floor in front of the television. His cropped golden hair was washed almost white from the blue light of the television in front of him. He didn’t look away as they entered. Cullen didn’t pay the boy any mind, leading Dorian towards the kitchen.  
A tall, soft-looking woman stood in front of the stove, her blonde hair woven into a loose plait down her back. She was arguing with a small blonde girl, whose high voice wavered, sounding close to tears.   
“Sorry, Rosie” the woman murmured, stirring the pot in front of her, “but we can’t give up Mia’s room for Andy”  
“But whyyyyyyyyyy? Mia doesn’t need it.”  
Dorian looked up at Cullen, whose cheeks had flushed a deep pink. Cullen stepped into the kitchen, clearing his through, “um, Ma?”  
The woman spun around, kind face splitting into a smile at the sight of her son, “there you are, Stan!”  
Dorian shot Cullen a questioning look. _Stan?_ he mouthed. Cullen shook his head, turning back to his mother, who was tottering over. She looked down at Dorian, blue eyes crinkling with her grin, “you must be Dorian.”  
Dorian lifted his hand in an awkward wave, trying his best to return the smile. The girl- Rosalie, Dorian thought- was staring at him, brown eyes wide. When she realised he was looking at her she ducked her head, burying her face in the hair of the doll she held.   
“I’m Ellen” Cullen’s mother said, voice warm. She reached behind her, untying the apron she had fastened around her waist, “and Fergus is around here somewhere… Fergus?”  
Dorian couldn’t help feeling distinctly uncomfortable. In the past, most of his friends’ parents had wanted little to do with him. A cursory wave was rare, a ‘hello’ rarer still. After news of his romantic rendezvous had made rounds through the upper social circles of Minrathous, most of the parents had taken to openly shunning him, or tittering behind their hands.   
A tall, beefy man lumbered in through a creaky backdoor, tracking dirt over the clean kitchen floor. Ellen tutted, glaring down at it. Fergus gave her a sheepish smile, ducking his head to peck her cheek. His salt and pepper hair was tied in a tight knot at the nape of his neck, a few logs tucked underneath his arm. He turned to Dorian, whiskers lifting with his smile.   
He nodded, “I’m Fergus.” He stretched out a sun-browned, freckled hand, and Dorian gingerly took it, his hand encompassed completely in Fergus’ grip. He gave it a snappy shake, unable to maintain eye contact.   
“Dorian.”  
He felt intensely foolish. Since when was he awkward around strangers? Admittedly, he often felt internally squeamish and uncomfortable, particularly around adults, but this was something new. He couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell a charming, yet subtly cutting joke.  
“Alright, you’ve met everyone” Cullen said quickly. Dorian felt himself being tugged away, Cullen’s parents looking after him. He stumbled as Cullen pulled them both through his bedroom door, shutting it behind him, “sorry about them.”  
Dorian didn’t respond, taking a moment to collect himself. He looked around Cullen’s tiny room, which was somehow both exactly what he expected, yet also surprising. Books lined the far wall, lined up neatly, worn spines proclaiming the titles. A desk sat under the window, its top completely clear save for a closed laptop, the small shelf above it holding a cup of pens, a ream of paper and a tiny Templar figurine. Cullen’s bed was made neatly, the cover pulled tight and creaseless, tucked under the mattress in hospital corners. Dorian thought of his own messy bedroom, trying to remember how many articles of clothing were strewn across the floor.   
“Dorian?” Cullen asked quietly, gently tapping Dorian’s shoulder, “are you okay?”  
Dorian turned, “Stan?”  
Cullen groaned, cheeks turning a bright red. He ran a hand down his face, “it doesn’t matter.”  
Dorian grinned, flopping down onto the bed, “but, Stan-“  
Cullen flashed him a dangerous look. Dorian chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. Cullen rolled his eyes, wandering over to his desk. He plucked the laptop up, wheeling the desk chair over to the bed, setting up a make-shift home cinema. The bed dipped under his weight as he sat down, and Dorian found himself pressed arm-to-arm with Cullen. He didn’t mind.   
Cullen put on a movie- some fantasy film- and Dorian had to stifle the urge to flick his wrist and turn off the lights. Instead, Cullen got up with a huff, flicking the light switch and settling back down on the bed. Dorian tried to get absorbed in the movie, but the actors were awful, and he couldn’t help but notice the awful quality of the wigs. Instead, he turned his attention to Cullen, watching him covertly out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help but notice- platonically- that Cullen truly was attractive. He had a square jaw, dusted with stubble that was just easing out of being patchy. He had a long, straight nose, high cheekbones and dark brows. His golden hair was beginning to fight back against the gel he’d restrained it with, curls escaping and flicking out at random.   
“What?”  
Dorian jumped, realising he’d been caught staring. Well, he thought he’d been covert. Dorian shrugged, trying to play it off, “nothing.” He turned back to the movie, feeling his cheeks burn under the weight of Cullen’s gaze. He couldn’t read the emotion behind it, he could just feel the path of Cullen’s eyes over his face.   
“Dor?” Cullen’s voice was soft, barely audible over the sound of the film, “I need some advice.”  
Dorian turned to look at his friend, who was staring at him, brown eyes forlorn. He realised he’d never truly noticed the colour of Cullen’s eyes. They were brown, yes, but the pupil was ringed with a warm whiskey colour, and the brown was flecked with gold. He blinked himself out of his momentary stupor.  
“Of course.”  
Cullen sighed, leaning forwards onto his elbows, his chin rested on his fists, “I don’t know what to do about Sophia.”  
Dorian felt his stomach flip. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but Cullen’s beast of a girlfriend was not a subject he was keen on. Still, he could see how much it was troubling Cullen, so he paused the movie, gesturing for Cullen to go on.   
Cullen grimaced, “I used to like her. Really really like her. She was sweet and funny, and she still can be. We were in Math together and she helped me through some of the problems and we just sort of... clicked. Then this year it was like she completely changed.” Cullen ran his hands through his hair, curls springing loose in their wake, “I tried to talk to her about it, ask her if she was ok, what was going on, but she won’t talk. She wasn’t particularly open before, but this… If she’s not clinging to me and using a baby voice, she’s just mean.”  
Dorian chewed on his lip, unsure of what to say. He had experience with sudden hatred directed his way, that was for sure. He couldn’t count how many boyfriends- or almost boyfriends- had changed from loving to hostile at the drop of the hat; whether or not that was relevant to Cullen’s relationship woes, however, was an entirely different story.   
“I caught her” Cullen mumbled, sounding numb, “making out with one of the guys on my hockey team. Barris. She told me it was an accident. She didn’t mean to, all that shit. I believed her, I guess. Or wanted to anyway.” He let his head hand, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, “Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it. I don’t know what to do, man.”  
Awkward. That word perfectly summed up how Dorian felt having so much information shoved on him. Awkward, and sad. He so badly wanted to reach out, pull Cullen in for a hug- he looked like he needed one- but he wasn’t sure whether that would make the situation better or worse. He settled for a stiff shoulder pat.   
“… break up with her?”  
Cullen laughed, sitting back, causing Dorian to snatch his hand back so it didn’t slide lower. Cullen looked at him, shoving the hair out of his face, “you’ve _seen_ what she’s like. I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”  
Dorian chuckled, “I could always help protect you. You and I, fighting off the wild Trev together.”  
“She’d kill you if she heard you call her Trev” Cullen said, faint smile on his face, “I did once and I swear I thought she was possessed for a moment.”  
“Noted.”  
The humour fell from Cullen’s face, his back thumping loudly as he slumped against the wall, “besides, I still love her, I think. I don’t think I could just dump her.”  
Dorian felt his good mood vanish. He huffed, holding back his snark. “Right” he said evenly.   
Cullen looked at him, morose, “girls confuse me.” He lapsed into silence, still pouting. Dorian didn’t say anything, his experience on the topic severely lacking. Finally, Cullen sighed, face thoughtful, “do you have a girlfriend? Back in Tevinter?”  
Dorian couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter, his bad mood dissipating.   
“What?”  
Dorian’s laughter quieted, his smile still firmly on his face, “you’re joking, right?”  
Cullen shook his head slowly, big brown eyes making him look like a confused puppy.  
“I’m gay, Cullen.”  
Cullen’s eyes widened, “oh.”  
Dorian felt his stomach flip, anxiety twisting tight in his chest and throat, “you really didn’t know?”  
“I didn’t want to assume” Cullen said simply, shrugging. He then turned, pressing play on the movie. The sound of people shouting filled the space between them, effectively ending the conversation. Cullen kept his eyes on the screen, and Dorian wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but it felt like Cullen had moved away from him. His heart pounded hard in his chest, feeling as if it was going to burst. He was used to this. Used to people being done with him, ending their friendships when they found out how _perverse_ he was. But that had been back home. Before Cullen. Dorian’s breath hitched, realisation crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. Cullen didn’t want to be his friend. Cullen thought he was disgusting for being who he was. Dorian should have been angry, but all he could feel was shame, and deep, piercing hurt. His eyes stung, his breath caught.   
“Dorian?”  
Dorian refused to turn, his eyes swimming as tears began to brim. He couldn’t look at Cullen, couldn’t let him see how much he was hurting. He tucked his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around them.   
“Dorian, what’s wrong?”  
“You think I’m disgusting, don’t you?” Dorian didn’t try to keep the venom from his voice, but the waver was completely unintentional.   
Cullen leaned in front of him, face pale with shock, “what are you on about?”  
Dorian pulled his knees tighter, fingernails digging into his shins, “I thought you would accept me. I thought we were friends.”  
Cullen’s face crumpled, but he didn’t retreat. He reached out, placing a hand on Dorian’s knee. Dorian flinched with the contact. “I’m sorry I made you think that” Cullen murmured, “I just thought… I don’t know. You wouldn’t want a big reaction. It doesn’t bother me. And” his grip tightened, “we _are_ friends.”  
Dorian sniffled, “it doesn’t bother you?”  
Cullen smiled, soft eyes crinkling. Suddenly, Dorian found himself wrapped up in a warm, tight embrace, his arms tucked up between his and Cullen’s chest. Cullen squeezed him, heat radiating from him.   
“It’s part of you, Dor” Cullen said softly, “you’re my friend, and I’ll accept you, no matter what, yeah?”   
Dorian relaxed into the hug, letting his head fall against Cullen’s shoulder.

 

***  


Dorian harrumphed as Cullen rubbed his eyes for the umpteenth time. Cullen blinked blearily, almost running into another student as they made their way to their history class.  
“Oh, stop it” Dorian snapped, “you were asleep by eleven last night. You’re not tired.”  
Cullen grumbled something unintelligible.   
“What was that?”  
Cullen groaned, “I said, I would have slept, if you hadn’t snored all night.”  
Dorian gasped, smacking Cullen loudly and squarely on the shoulder, “I do _not_ snore!”  
“Whoever told you that is a liar” Cullen snorted.  
Dorian turned to glare at Cullen, but something caught his eyes. Chancellor Roderick stood outside their classroom, dressed in his full Chantry garb, chatting to Rainier and Vael. Dorian groaned loudly.  
“What?” Cullen followed his gaze, mimicking Dorian’s groan perfectly when he saw the three men, “ _another_ lesson on the Maker? I hear enough from my grandmother.”  
Dorian glanced around, gaze following their peers, a writhing sea of navy blue. They were all shuffling in the same direction.   
“They’re all headed to the Chantry.”  
Cullen let out another long, exasperated sigh. Dorian turned to him, eyebrow raised, “and here I thought you were devout.”  
“I am” Cullen snapped, “but I can’t stand Roderick. He can shove his sermons up his arse.”  
Cullen began to trudge towards the Chantry, but Dorian was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration. He grabbed Cullen’s arm, yanking him into the boys’ bathroom. It was empty, save for a spilled rubbish bin, and a carton of cigarettes badly concealed behind a soap dispenser. Cullen stumbled past Dorian, almost pulling them both down. Dorian reached out, steadying them both.   
“Dorian, what-“  
“Let’s ditch.”  
Cullen’s eyes opened wide, his jaw going slack, “what.”  
Dorian shrugged, snatching the cigarettes and tucked them into his pocket, “they barely ever take attendance during services. We won’t be missed.”  
Cullen winced, his hand creeping towards the back of his neck, “we shouldn’t.”  
Dorian shrugged again, “I’m not going to make you. But I’m going” he chuckled, walking past Cullen towards the door, “there is no way I’m going to listen to Roderick blather on about how evil we all are.” He stumbled, stopped by Cullen’s hand suddenly around his wrist. He looked back.  
“I’ll come.”  
Dorian grinned, “good.”  
He turned back to the door, opening it slowly and sticking his head out. The hallway was empty, the pattering of hurried footsteps fading into the organ music that flowed from the direction of the Chantry. Dorian reached back, grabbing Cullen’s broad hand firmly in his. They slipped quietly out of the bathroom, barely able to contain their giggles as they scurried through the hallways and out of the front doors of _Our Lady Andraste_.

 

***  


They ended up sitting in a park in the centre of Redcliffe, backs up against a statue, a great stone griffon casting its shadow over them. They sipped on milkshakes from _Nugs and Nibbles,_ given to them for free by Sera, despite Cullen’s insistence that he pay. Their blazers and school shirts safely stowed away in Cullen’s beast of a truck, spare work shirts thrown on to avoid being caught skipping class.  
Cullen tugged on his _Nugs_ shirt, which fit him snuggly, the printed design stretched over his firm chest. “Are you sure there weren’t any bigger ones?” he whined, “not that I’m complaining, but this one _is_ a bit tight.”  
Dorian shrugged, taking a long sip from his vanilla cinnamon milkshake, “you should be thankful I’m not making you walk around shirtless.”  
Cullen pouted, grabbing a handful of hot, salty chips, the oil-soaked butcher’s paper rustling with the light breeze. Dorian jumped when the length of Cullen’s forearm brushed against his bicep, the heat noticeable even though the afternoon was unseasonably warm. Cullen didn’t notice, crunching through his handful of chips.  
“You were right” Cullen admitted, voice a little muffled through his mouthful of potato, “this is much better than a Chantry service.”  
Dorian chuckled, turning his head to face his friend, “I wouldn’t have taken you for someone to skip out on services.”  
Cullen blushed, grimacing, “I go… usually.” He sighed, shrugging, cheeks still flushed, “I feel I can show my faith far better through my actions. What good am I doing by sitting and listening to old people drone on about how ‘evil’ magic is?”  
“That’s… surprisingly noble.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, “oh harr harr.”  
Dorian smacked Cullen’s shoulder, pursing his lips, “I’m serious, you fool.”  
Cullen’s blush returned, “Oh” he ducked his head, “well. Thank you.”  
A quiet settled between them. They sat together comfortably, the tiniest gap between them, and Dorian felt relaxed. Happy. Then Cullen slurped loudly on his milkshake.  
Dorian snorted, “lummox.”  
Cullen grinned, his teeth stained pink by his drink.  
Dorian couldn’t help but smile back, “I’m glad we’re friends” his smile faded a little, “sorry I was such an arse.”  
Cullen smiled softly, and Dorian squirmed at the feeling of butterflies in his stomach, “it’s fine, Dor. Let it go” he chuckled, “I probably didn’t make the greatest first impression either.”  
“On the contrary” Dorian snickered, “your face made an excellent first impression. Then you opened your mouth and ruined it.”  
“Hey!”  
Dorian laughed, throwing a chip at Cullen. Cullen dived forwards, catching it deftly in his mouth, crying out in triumph. Dorian wasn’t sure whether to cheer or not. He’d never seen such a useless talent. He tossed another chip, caught between amusement and utter disbelief when Cullen caught it again, spluttering it as it went straight down his throat. He smacked Cullen’s back a few times, unable to stop a giggle bubbling out from his lips. Cullen gasped, turning back and scowling at Dorian.  
“You’re evil.”  
Dorian shrugged, “it’s true.”  
He leant back against the statue, letting his eyes close. The afternoon sun rested on his shoulder and was cast over his legs, keeping him warm while his eyes were shielded by the statue’s shadow. He was comfortable, in good company, and relaxed. He jumped when he felt Cullen lean back beside him, their bare arms pressed together. He peeked an eye open, looking stealthily up at Cullen through his long eyelashes. Cullen was looking at him, a soft smile curving his freckled cheeks. Dorian felt his heart jump in his chest, butterflies fluttering furiously in his stomach.  
Slowly, so as to give Cullen plenty of opportunity to stop him, he bent his head down. Cullen didn’t stop him, and so he rested his head in the crook of his friend’s neck. Cullen’s skin was warm against his cheek, his heartbeat just audible.   
It was nice. A friendly gesture. Dorian let his eyes slide closed once more. It didn’t mean anything. Just comfort between two friends.


	6. Parties and Pirates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many times I've apologised for late chapters, so I think I'm going to avoid the empty promises this time around.
> 
> This chapter was one I was really excited for, and as a result was very difficult to break. However, it is finally written, after two months of sitting in various states of in-progress. 
> 
> I hope you're all still enjoying this fic, and I hope you all sit around for the conclusion!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

Dorian pulled his blazer tighter around himself, burrowing his face further down into his scarf, keeping his thermos of hot tea against his chest. It was too cold to be outside, the wind chilling down to his bones. He would have been in the library, curled up in front of the heater, had it not been for Cullen. Cullen, and his team of fit, reasonably attractive hockey players, who were sprinting around the oval. He didn’t really care to understand the game, past the aim of getting the ball in the net, but the tight jerseys and shorts certainly piqued his interest.  
 Dorian wasn’t the only one appreciating the view; Cassandra and Aveline were sat further down the hill, huddled together against the cold. Aveline had her head down, furiously scribbling in a notebook, while Cassandra was watching the team train. Dorian couldn’t judge; he had given up the pretence of reading, and was instead focused on Cullen. Watching his friend had become one of his favourite past times. Thinking about him, too. Imagining the feel of Cullen’s hand in his…  
Dorian huffed, throwing himself back against the tree. It had become increasingly apparent that the fluttering Dorian had initially felt around Cullen had blossomed into… feelings. A wave of guilt and frustration broke over Dorian. Just acknowledging the crush felt like cheating, Rilienus dancing through his mind. Not only that, but he knew the feelings were pointless; if nothing else, Cullen’s overbearingly attached girlfriend made sure of that. Sometimes, when he just let his mind wander, images of he and Cullen would swim through. They’d become less friendly and more romantic. Each time he found himself enjoying the visions far too much, and each time he’d ended up miserable, loathing himself for even entertaining the idea.   
The sound of a whistle blowing pulled Dorian from his cyclical self-pitying. He looked up, butterflies in his chest at the sight of Cullen striding towards him, huge grin plastered across his face.  
“You’re a fool, Dorian” he hissed at himself, unable to stop the butterflies from swarming in his throat. Cullen wasn’t making the whole ‘just friends’ thing easy.   
Cassandra turned as Cullen made his way past her, catching Dorian’s eye. She ducked her head, the blush that bloomed over her cheeks making her olive skin glow. Dorian managed to stifle his laugh, but Aveline wasn’t so successful. She received an elbow to the ribs, making Dorian snort.   
“What’s so funny?”  
Cullen flopped down next to Dorian with a grunt, long, muscular limbs splayed. His cheeks were flushed, his damp hair pushed back to his scalp, chest heaving as he panted. It was like Dorian had begun to see his friend in a new light. He cursed himself, forcing his eyes to meet Cullen’s. They were like honey and butterscotch. Dorian swore internally.   
“Nothing” he replied indifferently, “all finished?”  
Cullen shook his head, reaching for Dorian’s thermos. Dorian snatched it back, smacking the back of Cullen’s hand. Cullen laughed, leaning over Dorian’s lap and grabbing the thermos. Dorian felt his face warm, eyes going wide.   
“Not yet” Cullen replied, opening the thermos and taking a swig. He spluttered, face screwing up in disgust, handing it back, “what is that?”  
Dorian chuckled, carefully wiping the rim of the thermos, “beetroot, ginger, cinnamon and aniseed.”  
Cullen poked out his tongue, “I don’t know how you drink that.”  
“Are you insulting my cooking?”  
Cullen blushed, “uh…”  
Dorian laughed, stowing his thermos back in his bag, “now, was there something you needed? Other than to utterly crush my dream of becoming an artisanal tea brewer, that is.”  
“There was” Cullen said with a snort, “are you free Friday night?”  
Dorian made a great show of getting out his phone, opening up his calendar and scrolling through it. Cullen played along, huffing, checking his bare wrist. Dorian couldn’t help the small smile that crept across his face. He had a shift on Friday, but Merrill owed him a favour. He made a mental note to text her.   
“Turns out I am free” he said finally, looking up, “what do you want to do?”  
Cullen rolled forwards, crossing his legs underneath himself, “Samson is having a party, and I thought maybe you’d wanna come?”  
Dorian turned his gaze to the hockey field, where Cullen’s teammates were still playing their practice game. He squinted, looking over each boy, “which one is Samson?”  
Cullen pointed at one of the guys to the edge of the field. He looked tall and weedy, long, limp hair tied in a low ponytail.   
“The one that looks like he needs a shower?”  
Cullen laughed, “that’d be the one.” He sighed, “we’ve told him… so many times.”  
“Rutherford!” one of the boys called out. He had golden-brown skin, his hair cropped almost down to his scalp. He stood with his legs spread, hockey stick over his shoulders, staring up at them, “get back down here! We’re losing!”  
Dorian turned to Cullen, but his question was answered by the strained expression on his friend’s face, “Barris?”  
Cullen nodded stiffly.  
“How are things between you two?”  
Cullen stood up, “that’s uh… We’ll talk about that another time.” He took a few steps down the hill, stretching his arms over his head. Dorian’s stomach flipped at the flash of bare skin where Cullen’s shirt had lifted.   
“Please come?”  
Dorian’s eyes flicked back up to Cullen’s. He wasn’t too sure a Ferelden party was particularly his scene, but he didn’t feel like he could deny Cullen. Especially when he put on that Maker-damned puppy dog face. He sighed, smiling, “if you’ll be there, so will I.”  
Dorian didn’t think that Cullen could get cuter, but there he was in front of him, beaming as if Dorian had just told him he’d won the lottery. Cullen rocked back on his heels, arms crossed behind his head.  
“Awesome,” he spun around, jogging back down to the field, “I’ll see you in history, Dor!”  
Dorian watched him go, eyes roving over his friend’s back. He sighed, flopping back against the tree. He had it bad.

 

***  


The minivan trundled up the street, stopping outside an old, but well-maintained house. The yard was neat, and littered with drunk people. Dorian had been to parties before, or so he’d thought. Those back in Tevinter had generally involved being in a fancy hotel, or someone’s beach house, taking illegal drugs and talking. He smoothed down his black sweater, feeling overdressed.   
Josephine turned to him from the driver’s seat, “are you going to be alright, Dorian?”  
He gave her a small smile, “of course.”  
Sera handed him his bottle of honey vodka- her favourite- and pushed him along the back bench-seat, “have fun, yeah?”  
Dorian took a deep breath, sliding open the door and jumping out of the car. No one looked up at his arrival, all absorbed in their own worlds. Leliana grabbed his arm through the passenger window, tugging him towards her.   
“Just know that you can always call us, yes?” her voice was quiet, sincere, “I know you haven’t known us for long, but we will take care of you.”  
Dorian ducked his head, taken aback, “thank you.”  
He took a few steps back, giving the girls a small wave, “thank you for the lift. See you Sunday!” They smiled back, though Leliana and Josephine looked worried, before driving off, leaving him on the curb. He took a deep breath, turning around.   
“It’s just a party” he muttered to himself.   
If he had thought that there were lots of people outside, it was nothing compared to the crowd in the house. People were practically pressed up against each other, some talking and drinking, others gyrating in time to the loud, awful music. Dorian searched for anyone he knew, anyone that he had even glimpsed at school, but almost every face was new to him. It seemed like most of them weren’t even high school aged, the crowd made up of mostly twenty-somethings. He wove his way through the mass of bodies, finding it difficult to see through both the low light, and the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung low over their heads. He eventually found a bare wall, stumbling over to it and leaning against it. He opened his vodka, taking a swig, only to cough and splutter as it burned his throat. He glared at the offending liquid, longing for his parents’ imported wines.   
No matter how repulsive his drink was, Dorian decided to play catch-up, needing to be drunk to be able to handle the sea of people. Each gulp seemed to hurt less, and once a fifth of the bottle had been downed, he began to feel a buzz, his head swimming. He let himself relax a little, slowly talking himself into fighting the crowd once again. Someone touched the shaved part of his hair.  
“Kaffas!” Dorian cried, jumping to the side. He turned, coming face to face with a girl of about 23, her hand reaching once again for his hair. He let her fingers brush through it once again, the sensation pleasantly ticklish.   
“Soft” she commented, smiling.  
Dorian grinned, “yours would be too, if you Fereldens bathed.”  
The girl laughed, leaning up against the wall, “mm. Lucky I’m not Ferelden.”  
Dorian squinted at her, trying to properly look at her through the darkness. Her skin looked to be a deep russet colour, her curly dark hair twisted up on top of her head, a bandana holding it back. She was dressed in a tight, laced dress, showing off her ample chest and hips; she preened under his assessment.  
“Antivan?” Dorian guessed, taking another swig.  
“Oooh, close” she purred, leaning forwards, “Rivaini. And from your feistiness, I’d say you’re Tevene.”  
Dorian grinned, nodding, “making us the most educated people in the room.”  
The girl laughed, “I’m Isabela. What’s your name, sweetness?”  
Dorian offered her the vodka, “Dorian. Though, to be honest, I feel like I may prefer ‘sweetness’”.  
Isabela giggled, taking a sip of the vodka. She handed it back without even a splutter, impressing Dorian. She leaned in, her lips only a few inches from Dorian’s, “want to see my tattoo?”  
Dorian nodded, taking another long drink. Isabela hiked up her dress, exposing a huge octopus, its tentacles wrapped around a ship. Dorian crouched down, admiring it; it was intricately detailed, from the glint in the octopus’ eye, to the grain of the wood on the ship.  
“This is amazing” he mused.   
He felt a finger tuck under his chin, gently easing him back up. Isabela looked at him through her eyelashes, “want to see the rest?”  
Dorian smiled at her, “a tempting offer, my dear, but unfortunately I’d only be interested in it from an… artistic perspective.”  
She pouted, “you’re missing out.”  
Dorian laughed, taking another long drink, “I’d be drooling if I swung that way, I’m sure. You’re truly gorgeous, but not my type.”  
Isabela leaned in, the smell of salt and roses coming off her skin, “not even a taste?”  
“As much as I like the smell of cheese” Dorian began, “I’m still lactose intolerant.”  
She paused, tilting her head, “what?”  
Dorian shook his head, feeling as if his brain was rolling around inside it, “I have no idea.”  
She laughed, leaning forwards and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “enjoy the party, sweetness.” Dorian didn’t have time to think of a response before she slunk off, disappearing into the swarm of people.   
He pushed off the wall, taking another long drink as he braved the crowd once more. He felt like liquid, slipping through the gaps between people, the music less abrasive in his ears. He closed his eyes as he wandered through, letting the movement around him propel him forwards. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a completely different part of the house. People were sprawled across couches, handing around cigarettes between them. Cullen was huddled in one of the armchairs, a drink in one hand, his phone in the other, head down. Sophia practically lay across his lap, engaged in an animated conversation with Barris. Dorian considered going over, a spike of jealousy pressing into his chest, but he decided that the less time he spent around Sophia, the better.   
He trundled through the house, his body feeling heavy, his head swimming. He found the back door, almost stumbling out into the backyard. He felt a warmth in his chest and head, his body tingling pleasantly. The yard was dark, lanterns strung through the trees lighting a dim path into the garden. Dorian followed it, taking another long drink from his vodka. He almost tripped over a couple, barely concealed in some bushes, mumbling an apology as he made his way further into the garden.   
He finally found a small, stone bench, almost completely concealed by the trees. He all but fell onto it, letting his vodka drop onto the grass, fishing his phone out of his pocket.   
  
_To: Ril <3  
From: 0403056799_

Hi ril ur so beautifuyl I miss u

_10:22PM_

He smiled at the phone, plopping it on his lap. He reached down, searching for his vodka in the dark. He felt almost as if he was floating, his body heavy and light at the same time. He finally found it, pressing the bottle to his lips, the vodka barely burning his throat anymore.   
He didn’t know if it had been five minutes, or five hours, but Dorian’s phone sat silent for too long. The sound of moaning was drifting from the bushes, growing steadily more irritating. Dorian snatched up his phone again, tapping on Rilienus’ contact. The phone trilled, and Dorian had to pull it away from his ear, the sound making his head spin. After a few rings, the line connected.  
“What?”  
Dorian grinned, swaying a little, “hey, baby.” Knowing that Rilienus was just on the other side of the line, the sound of his breathing swimming around Dorian’s head, it made butterflies flutter in his chest. He took a long draught of his vodka, swallowing hard, “I’ve missed you.”   
Rilienus sighed on the other end. Dorian could hear the creak of his desk chair, painting the image of his boyfriend leant over his desk, face bathed in the yellow glow of his lamp. It was Summer in Tevinter, perhaps Rilienus was shirtless, “Dor, I miss you too, but I’m really busy.”  
Dorian pouted, wishing RIlienus could see it through the phone line. Rilienus had never been able to resist his pouts, relenting to him every time he just slightly jutted out his lower lip. He lay down against the bench, looking up at the night sky, “that’s what you alwaysss say” he could feel his voice beginning to slur, but he fought it, “don’t you want to talk?”   
“I’m sorry” Rilienus’ voice was firm. He sounded tired, “my dissertation is due in two weeks. I don’t have time.”  
Dorian groaned, the sound long and drawn out, “come to Fereldennn.” He was met with silence, so he persisted, “please? Pretty pleeeeease?”  
A sigh, “are you drunk?”  
Dorian couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from his lips, “a little. Remember-“  
“I’m not in the mood for this” Rilienus snapped, cutting Dorian off, “goodnight. Stay safe.”  
The line went dead before Dorian had a chance to say anything else. It felt almost as if he’d been slapped, his eyes stinging a little. He felt his bottom lip trembling a little, the stars beginning to blur above him. He searched blindly below him for his bottle, which was almost a quarter empty. He fumbled as he pressed it to his lips, spilling the liquid all over his throat and face, cold soaking into his shirt.  
“You right there?”  
Dorian looked up, seeing a silhouette hovering just beyond the reach of the moonlight. Dorian sat up, feeling as if his head was rolling off his shoulders. He squinted into the dark, feeling as if he was seeing triple. He wiped away the budding tears, “who’s there?”  
“It’s me, silly” Cullen walked forwards, a little unsteady on his feet. He flopped down on the bench next to Dorian, an almost-empty beer in his hand.   
Dorian smiled, leaning heavily into Cullen’s side. He snuggled closer when Cullen wrapped his arm around him, pressing his face into Cullen’s shoulder.   
“I didn’t know you were here” Cullen said quietly, draining the rest of his beer.  
Dorian nodded against his friend, “I’ve been here fffor a while. I saw you with Trev.” Dorian didn’t know if he was imagining it or not, but Cullen seemed to tense. Dorian hushed him, patting Cullen’s chest, “sssalright.”  
Cullen leaned back, looking down at Dorian, “how drunk are you?”  
Dorian shrugged emphatically, taking another swig of his vodka before offering it to Cullen, “how drunk are _you_?”  
Cullen laughed, taking the bottle and placing it on the bench next to him. Dorian pouted, reaching for the bottle.   
“How’s your head?”  
Dorian gave up on the vodka, turning to face Cullen, a lascivious grin on his face, “I haven’t had any complaints.”  
Cullen stared blankly at him for a second, blinking groggily. Then, his eyes widened, his cheeks reddening.   
Dorian snickered, letting his head flop against Cullen’s shoulder. He sighed, staring up at his friend. His nice friend. Cullen was so good. And smart. And funny. And very handsome.  
“You think I’m handsome?”  
“Hm?”  
Cullen was blushing even more fiercely, his eyes on the ground. Dorian watched him for a moment, mulling his question over in his head, “very. Very very _very_ handsome.”  
Cullen’s shoulders crept up, taking refuge near his ears, “Dorian, I-“  
Suddenly, a new song came on, drifting through the trees. Dorian immediately recognised it. Slow, jazzy, the crooning vocals reminding him of cigarette smoke in a seedy bar. He didn’t stop to wonder who had taken the AUX cord hostage to play it. All that mattered was it was his favourite song, and he wanted to dance.   
He jumped up, almost falling to the ground, his legs like jelly beneath him. Cullen grabbed him, saving him from the ground, pulling him tight against his broad chest. Dorian grinned up at his friend, his near miss barely registering.  
“Dance with mmme?”  
Cullen chuckled, nodding. He wound his arms around Dorian’s waist. Dorian grinned, stepping closer, clasping his hands behind Cullen’s neck. They began to do a slow, strange, stumbling dance. Cullen was a little wobbly on his feet, whereas Dorian was barely able to hold himself up, resting on Cullen heavily for support. The music picked up, and Dorian tried to impress Cullen, ambitiously attempting a spin. He tipped sideways, almost tumbling to the ground. Cullen yanked him upright, catching him against his chest. He laughed breathlessly, still wobbling in Cullen’s grip. He looked up, finding Cullen staring intensely down at him.  
“I like this” Dorian snickered, wriggling against his friend, “I like you.”  
Cullen blushed fiercely. His cheeks looked so warm and pink, so inviting. Dorian had to lean in and kiss one, the skin soft under his lips. Cullen stared at him incredulously. Dorian grinned. He reached up, taking Cullen’s face in his hands. His legs wobbled at the loss of his arms’ support, but Cullen still held him tight. He leant up on his tip-toes, pressing his lips to Cullen’s before dropping back down.   
Cullen stared at him, wide-eyed, face so red it looked like he might explode. Dorian swayed, waiting. Cullen sucked in a shocked breath. He turned, looking behind them, back towards the house. Then he was on Dorian. Dorian found himself pulled up, Cullen’s lips pressed to his. The kiss was heated, hard. A small voice buried deep beneath the haze of intoxication was mumbling something, a tiny prick of worry, but Dorian could barely hear it over the cry of _YES_ that coursed through him.   
The world pitched sideways, and Dorian was suddenly on the ground, grass tickling the back of his neck, Cullen’s weight pinning him down. He wrapped his fingers tight in those golden curls, refusing to let Cullen go. Cullen groaned, and the sound travelled straight through him, making him whine in response. Cullen’s tongue pushed through his lips, and Dorian accepted it gratefully. The kiss was sloppy, wet, hurried, but to Dorian it was perfect, perfect, perfect.   
Cullen shifted his weight, pressing against Dorian’s belly. Something wasn’t right. Dorian groaned, feeling something twist, flipping in his stomach. He shoved Cullen away, scrabbling blindly in the grass.  
“Dorian?”  
Dorian crawled forwards, his body bucking. He groaned, feeling his night thundering up from his gut, splashing noisily into the grass. He gasped, sucking in a few short, shocked breaths before vomiting again, throat burning.  
It was not dignified. That was all Dorian could think. Snot dribbling from his noise, his eyes watering, and bile coating his lips and shirt. He whined pitifully, using all the strength he could muster not to collapse face-first into his puke, his arms wobbling dangerously under him. He was vaguely aware of a hand combing through his hair, someone hushing him soothingly. He dry-heaved, making a horrible hacking sound as his body convulsed painfully.   
“Come on, Dor” Cullen said quietly, “let’s get you home.”

 

***  


“Andraste’s hairy fucking arsehole.”  
Dorian curled up tighter under his covers, clutching his throbbing head. His mouth felt like sandpaper, nausea sitting like a rock in his throat. It felt as if someone had cut his head open, and then sewn it back together with a ball of needles inside it. He rolled over, reaching blindly for his bedside table. He felt a glass, alongside a packet of foil-sealed tablets. He blindly popped two out, trying to avoid the bright morning light. Carefully, he peeled the covers back just enough to free his mouth, taking the tablets and gulping the water down, cursing as he spilt it on his bed.   
The water was a mistake. Instantly, Dorian felt his stomach churn. He jumped out of the bed, sprinting for the bathroom. He made it just in time, throwing himself in front of the toilet, throwing up noisily into it. He rested his head against the toilet bowl, panting, sweat beading on his forehead. How much had he had last night?  
Once his stomach had settled, he all but crawled into the shower. He turned the water on, curling up on the tiled floor, letting the hot water pelt him. He moaned, bathing in his self-pity. He tried to recall the events of the night before. He remembered snippets. The girl with the tattoo. Cullen and Sophia. People in a bush. Rilienus, maybe? And drinking alone. On a bench. A song? He whined, curling up tighter. He’d never been black out drunk, had always prided himself on being able to handle his alcohol. He’d taken it too far, and boy, was he paying the price.   
After what seemed like an eternity, he turned off the shower, dragging himself out. He went downstairs, each step like a crack of thunder. He searched through the cupboards, hoping there was ginger beer, ginger ale, ginger tea, ginger _anything_.   
“How was the party?”  
Dorian turned around, finding Aquina leaning against the doorway, looking perfect as usual in her long silk robe. He shot her a dark look, continuing his slow pottering around the kitchen, searching for anything to help his nausea. Aquina huffed, sweeping past him and grabbing some ginger root from the back of a cupboard, beginning to chop it up. Dorian stopped his search, leaning his head against the cool marble counter and watching her work.   
She finely diced the ginger, grabbing other various roots and herbs from her cupboards, grinding them all together with a mortar and pestle. She then threw them in the blender, adding water and muttering under her breath as she blitzed it together. She handed him a glass of the thick, grey liquid, ignoring his look of disgust, “it will help with your nausea.”  
Dorian grimaced, but drank obediently, trying not to let it touch his tongue too much on the way down. It was sludgy and disgusting, but it seemed to work immediately, his stomach settling. He polished off the glass, setting it down.   
“Thank you” he gasped. He looked up at her, knowing he was pushing his luck, but desperate to feel better, “mother?”  
She arched a brow, already bolstering her defences, “what?”  
“Would you please heal my headache?”  
She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “perhaps you should have paid more attention when I tried to teach you healing.”  
Dorian whined, “pleeeeeease, mother. It hurts so bad.”  
Aquina rolled her dark eyes, “I’ll teach you tomorrow” she raised a finger, silencing Dorian’s protests, “go back to bed. I’ll bring you lunch soon.” She swept off, shutting the door of her study behind her.  
Dorian pouted, dragging himself back up the stairs. He burrowed under his covers, sulking. He regretted the night before with every fibre of his being.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an event from my own life. Waking up after being black-out drunk is so disorientating.


	7. Detention For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like Lazarus, I have risen from the dead and bring with me a new chapter. As such, this fic is also being revived.   
> What started as writer’s block ended up being a total creative slump. This chapter has existed in about four different iterations, each worse than the last. However, I think I’m finally happy with it, even though it is a bit shorter than most of the other chapters in this story. 
> 
> I apologise for the six month hiatus. I’ve missed this fic dearly, and I intend to finish it! Please enjoy, and don’t roast me too hard for being such a slack updater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Lazarus, I have risen from the dead and bring with me a new chapter. As such, this fic is also being revived.   
> What started as writer’s block ended up being a total creative slump. This chapter has existed in about four different iterations, each worse than the last. However, I think I’m finally happy with it, even though it is a bit shorter than most of the other chapters in this story. 
> 
> I apologise for the six month hiatus. I’ve missed this fic dearly, and I intend to finish it! Please enjoy, and don’t roast me too hard for being such a slack updater.

Dorian couldn’t think of a time he’d been more excited for school, except perhaps the last day of term. Or the day that a three-month revenge plan concocted by he and Felix came to fruition. But, other than that, he couldn’t think of one. Despite them both having been at the same party, Dorian never managed to spend any time with Cullen during the black-hole of a night that Friday had been. He lamented the fact, having been eager to see what Cullen was like when he let his hair down, or rather, when those golden waves spun into ringlets.  
That and, since Friday afternoon he’d heard nothing from Cullen. Messages and phone calls had gone unanswered. Had it been anyone else, Dorian would have assumed the worst; however, in the case of Cullen he was sure that it was merely Trevelyan holding his friend’s phone hostage for a minor trifle. Well, what would have been a minor trifle had anyone of sound mind assessed it. Perhaps it was time to begin another revenge scheme.   
He practically bounced to class, laughing internally when the looks he received were no stranger than usual. The perks of being a filthy ‘Vint, he supposed. He rounded the corner to his classroom, striding into the almost-empty room. History wouldn’t start for another ten minutes, yet there sat Cullen, head bent, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Dorian loped over, sliding Cullen’s work onto the floor and stretching across the desk in one fluid motion. Cullen grumbled, reaching down and picking up his papers.   
Honey eyes flicked up, creased with irritation, “what are you doing?”  
Dorian grinned, “I missed you dearly this weekend, Cullen. Was your darling girlfriend holding you prisoner for having the nerve to invite me on Friday?”  
Cullen flushed, his cheeks suddenly a fiery red. He shrugged, gaze dropping to his lap, “I had homework. Sorry.”  
Dorian pouted, tilting his head until he met Cullen’s eyes, “Cullen. I am far more important than homework.”  
Cullen huffed a quiet laugh, tentative smile on his lips, “I suppose you’re right.”  
Triumphant, Dorian rolled onto his back, long legs dangling off the desk, “how did you enjoy the party?”  
“Dorian…” Cullen’s voice was hushed, strained. Dorian lifted his head a little, concerned, “about Friday… I-“  
“DORIAN!”  
With a roll of his eyes, Dorian lazily turned his gaze to the front of the classroom. Rainier stood by the door, arms crossed, face stoic.  
“Sir?”  
Whether it was because he had the patience of a Sister, or if Rainier’s composure could be attributed to a firm decision to murder Dorian, he couldn’t be sure. As it was, Rainier remained blank-faced, derision thick in his tone, “do not use the desk as a lounge. Sit down.”  
Dorian nodded, spinning so he was sitting on the desktop, feet tucked neatly beneath him, “better, sir?”  
Cullen stifled a laugh behind him. Rainier blinked slowly, letting out a long, slow breath. Other students were beginning to filter in, deliberately keeping their eyes on their own desks. Rainier took a few heavy steps forward, standing over Dorian.   
“Sit at your desk, on your chair.”  
Dorian huffed, sliding off the desk and trudging over to his own. He flopped heavily into his chair, the legs scraping loudly across the linoleum.   
“Are you done?”  
He gestured grandiosely, biting his tongue against the sarcastic ‘voila’ that ached to burst forward.   
Rainier watched him, a dark bushy eyebrow arched. Once Dorian stopped, he nodded, “hm. Detention.”  
Grumbling, Dorian began to get his things out of his bag, letting them flop loudly onto his desk.   
“You have detention, as well.”  
Dorian looked up, eyes snapping to where Cullen sat, arms outstretched, “why?”  
Rainier gave him a curt harrumph, “if you think Pavus’ antics are so funny, then you can both keep laughing. After school.”  
Dorian grimaced, meeting Cullen’s bored gaze. ‘Sorry’ he mouthed. Cullen gave him a long, hard glare before turning to the front of the room.

***

The clock ticked slowly, seeming to never get closer to the point when they were allowed to leave detention. Dorian sat back in his chair, idly spinning his pen on the desk, whilst Cullen hunched over the worksheet they were given, focused intently.   
Every now and then Rainier would glance up from his station at the front of the room, checking on them. Cullen earned an appreciative, snappy nod, and Dorian was met with a glare. It didn’t matter, ultimately. Rainier was far too involved in his phone to truly put much effort into disciplining them. Dorian fought the temptation to rock back on his chair, sure it would end in another detention.   
“Alright.” Rainier stood, tucking his phone into his pocket, “you’re both to stay here until 5:30. Leave your worksheets on my desk, and whoever is last out, close the door.” He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to add something, do more to earn his teacher’s pay check. Ultimately, he decided against it, striding out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Dorian almost felt sorry for him; he had never been the easiest student.   
It was no matter. As soon as Rainier’s footsteps had faded away, Dorian turned to Cullen. His head was still down, pen sprinting across the page, his nose so close to the textbook it was almost touching it. A well-aimed ball of paper caught his attention, Dorian fixing him with the full power of his pout, jutting his lower lip out. Cullen rolled his eyes, returning to his work.   
The corners of Dorian’s mouth pulled down, his pout becoming a frown. He scooted his chair over to Cullen, resting his chin on the desktop, grey eyes large as he looked up at his friend.  
“Are you mad at me?”  
That earned him a low chuckle, “no.”  
Dorian waited for Cullen to continue, but he didn’t, his eyes glued to his work. He groaned, rocking backwards on his chair, “why won’t you talk to me?”  
Cullen shrugged, “I don’t want to piss Blackwall off any more.”  
“Bullshit.” Dorian let the front legs of the chair land back down on the ground with a bang. Cullen flinched, frowning as the pair made eye contact. After a moment he sighed, leaning back, hand scratching at the nape of his neck.   
“I just thought…” Cullen grimaced, bouncing uncomfortably in his seat, “Friday. We… I-“  
“Andraste’s tits.”  
Cullen blanched, eyes wide, “shit. Dorian. I don’t know…”  
Dorian held up a finger, silencing him, “how much do I owe you?”  
“What?”  
“Dry cleaning. Or new clothes” Dorian said with a shrug, “whichever you prefer.”  
Cullen narrowed his eyes, “what are you on about?”  
Exasperated, Dorian stood, hands on hips, “what are you on about? I’m assuming I vomited, as I have a tendency to when I drink too much. Considering I remember very little of Friday night, I can only imagine how much puke ended up on your clothes.”  
“You don’t remember?”  
Dorian snorted, “no. I woke up with horrid hangover, and very little in way of recollection.”  
Cullen was silent for a long while, drawing a curious glance from Dorian. He fiddled idly with his pen, “what do you remember?”  
“There was a Rivaini girl with a tattoo. Beautiful, but… not my type” Dorian mused, looking upwards as if he could draw upon the Fade, “I saw you with Trev. Then I went outside…” he trailed off, scrunching his nose up. “Did we end up hanging out?”  
There was an almost imperceptible sadness in Cullen’s smile, “we did. Not for long.”  
“Hm.”  
Dorian wandered over to his desk, collecting his things. He took the worksheet up with a flourish, striding forwards and setting it in Rainier’s pigeonhole. It was still completely blank, save for his name written in neat script at the top. Returning to his desk, he snatched up his bag, going to stand by Cullen expectantly.   
“Dorian…” Cullen murmured, warning clear in his tone, “I know what you’re thinking. No.”  
“Why?”  
Cullen huffed, “do you really want to get in more trouble with Blackwall?”  
Dorian darted round behind Cullen, wrapping his arms around his friend’s, chin rested on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, whining directly into Cullen’s ear, “pleeeease?”   
Cullen didn’t respond, his breathing suddenly shallower. Dorian peered forwards, poking Cullen’s cheek, which had bloomed a bright red. His hand was swatted away.   
“Do you like me?”  
The question was so quiet Dorian almost didn’t hear it. When he finally did digest what Cullen had asked, he snorted. “Of course I like you, silly boy. You’re my friend. Why?”  
A shrug was all he received in response, making his head bob with the movement. He straightened up, hitching his bag higher.   
“So?”  
Cullen looked up at him, then back down at his worksheet glumly. Finally, he sighed, pushing his chair back, “fuck it. Let’s go.”

***

They ended up sitting in the bed of Cullen’s truck, open pizza box between them, the valley of Redcliffe stretching out into the horizon. Dorian had to admit, though he held no love for Redcliffe, the town did possess some beauty. The vista from the cliffs that the pair sat upon almost acted like a glimpse into the past, heritage buildings dotted throughout the landscape, the shadow of a crumbling tower looming far off in the distance.   
A small sigh brought Dorian’s attention back to the car. He glanced over at Cullen, who looked concerned, his brow furrowed. Dorian nudged him with an elbow, raising an eyebrow.  
“You really don’t remember the party?”  
Dorian shrugged. He reached forwards, fiddling with the pizza box, trying to pull anything from his empty memory bank, “I remember seeing you sitting with Trevelyan, and… Barris. You looked pissed” Cullen hummed a quiet laugh, “then I went into the garden, and I’m fairly sure I called Rilienus. I think. Then it’s just… black.”  
Cullen chewed on his lip, nodding, “who’s Rilienus?”  
Dorian couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips, eyes on his hands, “he’s my boyfriend.”  
“Oh.”  
“He’s in University” Dorian continued, grinning, “working on his PhD. He’s going to be a Doctor of Imperium Magic and History.”  
Cullen leaned forwards onto his fists, his gaze a thousand miles away, “isn’t he a little old for you?”  
Dorian elbowed his friend, “hush, you. He’s still in Tevinter. By the time I go back there, I’ll have graduated, and then the age gap won’t be so severe.”  
Cullen’s eyes snapped to him in alarm, “you’re going to go back?”  
“Of course” Dorian said, matter-of-factly, “Tevinter is my home. And once I’ve finished high school, my parents can no longer keep me here.”  
“So that’s it?”  
Dorian tilted his head in query, “hm?”  
“You’re just going to fuck off then. Leave” the vitriol in Cullen’s voice surprised Dorian, “our friendship just means nothing, I guess.”  
Dorian hissed, wrapping Cullen up in a hug, moving before his mind could really catch up to his intentions, “fasta vass, Cullen. Don’t be daft.” He leaned back, levelling a stern look at his friend, “our friendship means everything. I didn’t know I’d find a friend here, especially not one as good as you. I’d come back. I’d want you to come to Tevinter, as well. There’s so much over there I want to show you.”  
Cullen let out a long breath, hanging his head, “Maker’s breath… I’m sorry. I’ve just been in a weird mood all weekend.”  
“It’s fine, amicus,” Dorian grabbed a slice of pizza, all but shoving it into Cullen’s mouth, “eat. Perhaps you’ll be less grumpy.”  
Cullen laughed around the mouthful of food, chewing deliberately. He opened his mouth, showing off the globules of half-chewed cheese and crust. Dorian hitched his leg up, tucking his foot above Cullen’s hip and shoving him away.  
“You’re disgusting. I take it back. You would be executed in Tevinter for impoliteness.”  
Cullen snorted, coughing and spluttering as he inhaled his ill-eaten food. Dorian was sorely tempted to let him choke, but he did his duty, smacking Cullen between his shoulder blades until he could breathe again, “lummox.”  
“Does the Imperium still execute people?” Cullen was still a little breathless, his words rushed.  
Dorian sighed, “yes. But only misbehaving Fereldens.”  
They settled into silence, both turning to look at the town below them, the sun beginning to brush the roofs. Smoke twirled up into the sky, people lighting their fires to ward of the night’s chill. Dorian watched the wisps dissipating into the darkening sky, shivering.   
Without saying anything, Cullen began to shuck off his blazer, reaching around and draping it over Dorian’s shoulders. He accepted it gratefully, burrowing into his double-layers.  
“Cullen,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the vista, “that was a little gay.”  
A not-so-elegant snort erupted from his friend, “that’s rich, coming from you.”  
Dorian snickered, sidling closer, leeching the warmth that radiated from Cullen. Slowly, so as not to alert Cullen to what he was doing, Dorian bent his head. He buried his nose into the collar of the blazer, taking the heady scent in. Pine, musk, and mint swirled through his nose, making his chest flutter. He closed his eyes, his lips curling into a small, private smile.

***

Dorian lay on his bed, curtains drawn against the inky sky, phone in hand. What remained of his dinner sat on the floor next to his bed, noodles having long since gone cold. He tapped out messages to Cullen, sending them in rapid-fire, watching the trashy reality show on his television in his periphery. His text-conversations with Cullen had become an almost-nightly routine, save for Cullen’s weekend M.I.A. He sniggered at the crude joke Cullen sent him, replying in kind with a lewd drawing he found online.   
He barely reacted when Halward came home, the slam of the front door and the raised voices that accompanied it far from unusual. What made his hackles go up, however, was the stomping up the stairs towards his room. Dorian kept his head down as his bedroom door was thrown open, flinching as the handle banged loudly into the plaster wall. Halward stormed forward, hands like claws on the foot of the bed.   
“Why am I hearing that you have had two detentions this term?”  
Dorian shrugged, keeping his head bowed, eyes unseeing as they stared down at his phone screen.   
“The school called,” Halward continued, gravely voice thunderous, “they told me you and another boy left the school grounds whilst you were still meant to be in detention.” He stormed forwards, snatching the phone out of Dorian’s hands, “when did my child become a delinquent? One who doesn’t even have the decency to look at his father when he is being spoken to?”  
Dorian shot a filthy look at Halward, “I was like this in Tevinter, father.”  
Halward’s face remained stoic, his eyes flashing dangerously, “if you’re not careful, child, I’ll ship you to the Soporati school in Marnas Pell.”  
“Good luck with that!” Dorian barked, anger sparking a fierce confidence in his chest, “I’m sure they’ll let a Pavus in with open arms. After all, the magisters so graciously let you dip into their bank accounts to buy our holiday home.” He paused, eyes opening wide in mock surprise, “oh wait! Pardon me, they didn’t.”  
Halward’s face contorted in rage, but his reply was interrupted by Dorian’s phone trilling in his hand. “Who is Cullen?”  
“No, father-“  
Halward jammed the phone into Dorian’s face, “is this boy the reason for your insolence? Are you off destroying our family name in another country through your filthy fucking perversions?”   
Dorian flinched, stung.  
“Unlock it.”  
Dorian blinked back the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes, “what?”  
“Unlock your phone” Halward growled, “or Maker help me, I will melt it.”  
Dorian reached out, taking the phone, his hands shaking despite his effort to hold them still. He fumbled as he entered the passcode, curling in on himself as Halward watched him, eyes boring into him.   
He handed it back, keeping his eyes down, “please, father.”  
“Quiet,” Halward barked. He lifted the phone to his ear, listening intently. Dorian’s stomach dropped as he realised what was happening. He prayed silently to the Maker that Cullen wouldn’t pick up.  
“Is this Cullen?”  
His prayers went unanswered, as they always did.   
“You are to leave my son alone.” Halward’s voice was cutting, quick, “do not look at him. Do not speak to him. Do not think about him.”  
Dorian’s breath quickened, anxiety clawing at his throat.   
“I am his father. You will do as I say or else I will personally have you expelled from Our Lady Andraste,” Halward barked, eyes savage, “you are shit beneath my feet, and do not think for a moment that you are more. Dorian is too good for you and your disgusting perversions. I will not have you defile him.”  
Halward pulled the phone away from his ear, hanging up and shoving it in his pocket. Tears were freely flowing down Dorian’s cheeks, his chest aching, lip trembling.  
“What have you done?”  
Halward gave him a sharp look, “you are not to be around him. You are not to speak to him. Look at him. Nothing.”  
Dorian shook his head violently, holding down the sob that hacked in his chest, “I hate you.” He scrambled back as Halward lurched forwards, his father’s hands closing around his biceps.   
“You hate me?” Halward roared, shaking Dorian, “look at yourself, Dorian! You’re pathetic, snivelling like a brat, defending that Southern scum! You let yourself be fucked by men like a whore!” His hands closed tighter, digging painfully into Dorian’s arms, “you pollute the very blood that runs through your veins!”  
Dorian’s breath hitched, mucus dripping from his nose. Halward stared at him in disgust, fingers gripping tighter, shaking Dorian roughly. “I work every day to do what is best for you! And this is how you repay me.”  
“Get off me!”  
Dorian put his hands square on Halward’s chest, shoving. Halward took a steadying step back, but before Dorian could react, he’d lunged forwards again. His hand connected loudly with Dorian’s cheek, sending a wave of sharp pain through his face. Dorian yelped, stumbling, the skin throbbing painfully; the soft flesh under his eye already had begun to puff up. Fresh tears brimmed, his breath caught in his throat.   
“Perhaps that will teach you to treat me with respect,” Halward spat, flexing his fingers at his side, “and will make you think twice before you speak.”  
He spun on his heel, striding out of Dorian’s bedroom, closing the door with a slam behind him. Dorian gasped for air, tears streaming down his cheeks. He sunk down onto the floor next to his bed, huddling up in the corner. His breath caught and his face ached, quiet sobs rolling in his chest. 


	8. Daydreaming Deliquency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for my dear readers! Sorry if it’s a bit shit, please tell me if there are any glaring errors. 
> 
> Enjoy! And I’ll see you in the next chapter :)

Night had well and truly turned into morning before Dorian moved. The sun was still far from rising, but even his night-owl mother had retreated from her study, the house long since silent. He peeled back his duvet, flinching against the cold. He lowered his feet slowly, trying not to make the floorboards beneath the carpet creak.   
His eyes were still sore, his cheek throbbing painfully. He brushed his finger over the swollen skin, hissing when the hot flesh pulsed with pain. He kept his eyes on the ground, avoiding the floor-length mirror as he darted towards his desk; the hunched black shape in the reflection was enough. Even though his parents’ room was down the hall from his, Dorian didn’t want to risk them seeing his light; he fumbled in the darkness, snatching up the first thing his hands landed on. He pulled on the cashmere coat, sliding his feet into the soft slipper-boots that he almost tripped over.   
He shuffled over to his window, tugging open the curtains. After taking a moment to brace himself, he quietly slid it open, shivering as the cool air ate through his coat. He carefully climbed out, finding his footing on the angled roof, scurrying towards the edge. A thick tree branch curled towards the rooftop, leafy fingers reaching for him. Taking a steadying breath, and whispering a prayer to the Maker, he launched himself forwards, rough bark scraping against his palms. He winced, steadying himself before beginning his descent, landing with a soft thump on the grass below.   
The moonless night offered him little in the way of light. Dorian kept a small mage-light tucked in the palm of his hand, its soft glow letting him see a few feet ahead. The walk was long, and cold, and as Dorian trudged further into the Redcliffe alienage, his trepidation grew. He didn’t know which he feared more, his father’s rage, or the risk of being approached by the Templars who drove idly past him intermittently. It had been close to half an hour of skulking through the winding streets when Dorian finally reached his destination; Cullen’s house sat in the near distance, the dull front porch light a soft, welcoming yellow.   
Careful not to wake the other sleeping Rutherfords, Dorian quietly snuck through the garden, trying to be quiet as he shuffled through the thick undergrowth. He finally found Cullen’s window, tucked down on the back left-hand side of the house, raised against the shallow grade of the land. Dorian slowly pulled himself up, bracing his feet against the side of the house. With great effort, his panting breath fogging up the glass, he rapped on the window.   
Nothing.   
He huffed, knocking again, loudly. The glass shook, trembling beneath his knuckles. He lost his grip, landing flat on the grass with a yelp.   
“Hello?”  
Dorian looked up, seeing a curly-haired silhouette peering out the window, “down here.”  
Cullen leaned forward, face shrouded in shadow, “Dorian?”  
Dorian stood, face level with the bottom of the window, some of Cullen’s features discernible as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, “can I please come in?”  
Cullen took a step back, shoving the window open further before disappearing into the darkness. Dorian hooked his fingers under the windowsill, hoisting himself up, climbing ungainly into Cullen’s room. The room was pitch-black but Dorian didn’t stop, moving forward blindly until his hands found Cullen, pulling his friend into a tight hug. He pressed his forehead into the crook of Cullen’s shoulder.  
“I’m so sorry.”  
Cullen, who had frozen in his embrace, began to thaw, stiffly returning Dorian’s affection. He took a long breath, and Dorian felt himself relax as he was encapsulated in Cullen’s comforting warmth. They stood there for a long moment, Dorian letting himself uncoil, the tension that had clung tight in his throat slowly dissipating.   
Cullen’s breath was light and warm over the back of Dorian’s neck, “are you okay?”  
Dorian shrugged as much as he was able, Cullen’s thick arms keeping him tucked close, “I’m fine.” His voice was smaller than it he’d meant it, the sureness he’d tried to convey reduced to a waver, “I’m used to it,” he drew in a long breath, “I was just worried you’d be mad at me.”  
Cullen let out a grunt, dropping his arms. He stepped away, and Dorian immediately missed how the embrace had grounded him.  
“Why would I be mad at you?” Cullen asked, switching on the lamp. Dorian blinked against the sudden stinging light. Cullen turned back, “it-“. His eyes went wide, gaze locked on Dorian’s throbbing cheek. Dorian ducked his head, shuffling back until he was sitting on the bed.   
“Did.. did your dad-“  
Dorian fingered the edge of his coat, keeping his eyes on the floor, “please, don’t.”  
Cullen hissed angrily, storming out of the room. Dorian felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, wiping them away hastily. He flinched as he heard things clanging in the other room, praying that the rest of the Rutherfords didn’t wake up, the slamming of cupboards and string of curses making that outcome more unlikely.   
Cullen came thundering back after a few minutes, handing an ice-pack wrapped in a tea towel to Dorian, “you’re staying here tonight.”  
“What?”  
Cullen took a deep breath, seeming to calm a little. He sat down, taking the ice pack back and gingerly pressing it to Dorian’s cheek. The cold stung initially, as did the pressure, no matter how slight, but Dorian went still, closing his eyes as the ice began to numb his tender flesh. Dorian placed his hand over Cullen’s, feeling a gentle swell in his chest.   
“Please, stay,” Cullen said softly, carefully extracting his hand, “I don’t want you going back there tonight.”  
Dorian nodded, looking up at Cullen through his eyelashes, “ok.”  
Cullen gave him a small smile, pushing himself off the bed, “have you eaten?”  
A sudden rumble from his belly reminded Dorian that he had not, in fact, gone downstairs for dinner. His mother had called for him, but the promise that his father was also at the table waiting, smug expression surely plastered across his face, had kept him firmly in his room. He grasped the ice pack tighter, shaking his head.   
Cullen disappeared out the door, his movements much quieter. Dorian scooted back, leaning against the wall. He took the ice pack away, pressing two fingers to his cheek and casting a weak numbing spell over it. It was clumsy, the runes he traced onto his skin not quite right, but it held onto the coolness of the ice, easing the pain. He glanced around the room, thankful that Cullen didn’t have a mirror. He didn’t want to see the mess that marred his face, his father’s present wholly unwanted.   
Cullen returned some minutes later, a container of steaming left-overs balanced on a tray in his hands. He laid it across Dorian’s lap, picking up the discarded ice pack. “I hope you like spaghetti,” he joked, handing Dorian a fork, “because that’s what we had tonight. I mean,” he glanced at the digital clock on the wall, “Maker. Last night.”  
He bustled back out of the room, leaving Dorian to take a few bites of the pasta. He discreetly traced a rune on the side of the bowl, warming it up further. It was good, the sauce rich and thick, basil and garlic complementing the tomato nicely. He twirled some spaghetti around his fork, savouring the slight buttery taste of the pasta. Cullen came back with a mattress, dragging it behind him. Dorian considered helping, but he decided that, as a guest, that wasn’t part of his duties. He watched Cullen idly, continuing to eat his dinner; or was it a very early breakfast?  
The single mattress landed on the floor with a muffled thud, the impact shuddering over the surface. Cullen tugged a sheet over it, then threw a thick duvet on top. Dorian watched with amusement as Cullen hesitated for a moment, hurrying out of the room to return moments later with a second duvet, throwing it to join the first. He smiled, first at the makeshift bed, then up at Dorian. Dorian smiled back, one half of his grin hindered by the swelling of his cheek. He patted the bed next to him, looking expectantly at his friend. Cullen accepted the invitation, settling down next to him, eyes forward.   
“What’s on your mind?” Dorian asked around a mouthful of food.   
Cullen shrugged, staying silent. Dorian rolled his eyes, elbowing him. More silence met his prodding.   
“I won’t judge you,” he said quietly, “and I won’t be angry, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
Cullen sighed, letting his head hang, “I just… I feel like this… your face. It’s my fault.”  
Dorian felt his mouth drop open. He closed it with some effort, trying to digest what Cullen had just implied. “Maker, Cullen. No,” he choked. He set his bowl down, running a hand through his hair, “you’re merely a…” he sighed, searching for the right words, “… a contributing factor, rather than the catalyst. And only in that my father thinks you and I are off fucking whenever we’re together.”  
Cullen stared, his cheeks flushed a furious red. His hand inched towards the back of his neck, fingers twining with his hair, “Maker… he…”. He pursed his lips in frustration, brows furrowing.   
“He doesn’t approve of my sexuality,” Dorian finished for him, his eyes dropping to his lap, “he thinks- well rather, the entirety of the Magisterium thinks- that my being gay brings shame upon our family name.” He couldn’t help the bitter laugh that hacked in his throat, “I’ve become somewhat of a pariah back home.”  
Cullen frowned, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, “why?”  
“I doubt this is truly the time to give you a lesson on the social intricacies of Tevinter,” Dorian joked blandly, “long story short, no matter how backwards you Southerners are in some regards, you at least accept that love is love.” He leaned back, noticing the soft pink blooming of Cullen’s cheek with curiosity. But, it was a school night, and they were sure to be tired when they awoke five hours later, “we should sleep.”  
Cullen shrugged, “I suppose.” He stood, beginning to peel his shirt off.  
“What are you doing?!”  
Cullen gave Dorian an odd look, serving to only further his embarrassment over his outburst. He cleared his throat, brushing his hair back, “I only mean… um.. won’t you be cold?”  
That earned him an eye roll, Cullen pulling his shirt up and off, tossing it to the ground, “I always sleep shirtless.” Dorian hummed, trying and failing to keep his eyes off Cullen’s chest. It was nice to know that his freckles didn’t end at his throat, speckling his fair skin all the way to his navel. Andraste’s gaping arsehole, Dorian forced his eyes down, fighting the heat that was somehow travelling up and down at the same time.   
He pushed himself off the bed, kicking his slipper boots off. He shucked off his coat, jumping at the small gasp from beside him. He glanced over at Cullen, who was staring intently at Dorian’s bicep. He followed his gaze, stomach flipping uneasily. His arms were decorated with a band of bruises, not quite black, but steadily darkening. They perfectly matched the span of his father’s fingers.   
“I’m going to fucking kill him.”  
Dorian glanced up at Cullen, taken aback. His mouth was set in a hard line, his flush migrated from his cheeks, his entire face slowly burning crimson. There was a tension set firm in his shoulders that Dorian had never seen before. He reached out, but Cullen flinched back, fists clenching at his sides. He took a few shuddering breaths, reaching up to twist his fingers tight in his hair.  
“Cullen-“  
Dorian couldn’t finish. He was suddenly pulled into a crushing embrace, squished up against Cullen’s hard, bare chest. He squeaked in shock, his hands trapped up next to his cheeks, “ow.”  
He stumbled as he was released, only steadying as Cullen caught his wrist. He was pulled back into another, softer, hug, though Cullen’s arms were still firm around him.   
“You don’t deserve this shit,” Cullen croaked, squeezing gently, “your father should pray to the Maker that I never meet him.”  
Dorian huffed a quiet laugh, “are you to be my knight in shining armour?”  
“If that’s what you need.”  
Dorian felt dizzy. So many conflicting emotions were warring within him. Hurt and anger, bridled by the swirling of warmth and the unmistakeable tension that was pooling in his belly. He groaned, pressing his face into Cullen’s throat. The soft, smooth flesh that met his lips did nothing to help. He pulled back, letting his arms drop, Cullen’s fingers leaving trails of fire over his shoulders as they retreated.   
“Perhaps we should go to sleep,” Cullen said quietly, the words awkwardly stumbling out of his mouth, “it’s ridiculously late.”  
Dorian nodded his assent, kicking back the covers of his makeshift bed and dropping himself onto the mattress. He burritoed himself in the blankets, rolling onto his side. Cullen flicked off the lights, shuffling noisily back to his bed. Dorian shut his eyes, listening to the sound of Cullen’s bed creaking beneath his weight, the soft sound of fabric sliding keeping him grounded in the blackness.   
He jumped when something warm touched his fingers, Cullen’s hand sliding securely into his own.   
“Just remember,” Cullen murmured, his voice soft and warm, “you’re always welcome here.”  
Dorian could barely choke out a ‘thank you’, his throat thick.   
Cullen gave his hand a soft squeeze before releasing it, “goodnight, Dorian.”  
“Goodnight.” Dorian tried to keep his hammering heart in check, closing his eyes and hoping that sleep would take him quickly.

***

The Rutherford household was loud in the morning. Full of bustle and chatter, and the clattering of feet and plates. Dorian pressed a pillow over his head, trying to block out the sound.   
“Why must your siblings wake at such an unholy hour,” he groused, burrowing further under his blankets.   
“It’s seven in the morning,” Cullen laughed from somewhere in the room, “you’re the one in bed late.”  
Dorian flung the pillow down, fixing Cullen with a stony glare, “school doesn’t start until nine. Why would I be awake before eight?”  
Cullen chuckled, packing his backpack, “they leave in fifteen minutes. Redcliffe Primary is half an hour away.”  
“Thank the Maker.” He heaved himself upright, rubbing his sore, puffy eyes. The look that Cullen gave him told him that he was thankful there was no mirror around. He dragged his fingers through his knotty hair, trying and most likely failing to tame it. He looked down at his crumpled shirt, grimacing at the black splotches of cried-off makeup that now stained it, “if I wore this to school, Rainier would have a field day.”  
Cullen stepped over, dropping a pile of clothing on Dorian’s head. He tugged it off, pulling apart the knot of fabric, the gold Our Lady Andraste embroidery flashing. He sighed, staring at the uniform, willing for it to be any day but Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday. Friday. Monday. He tossed the clothes aside, flopping back down on the bed, “no.”  
“No?”  
“No.”  
Cullen grinned, “you get dressed, I’ll make some breakfast.” He wandered out, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Dorian stared at the closed door, willing for a miracle- or a disaster, he wasn’t picky- that would prevent him from having to go to school. As always, Andraste was a loveless mistress, and nothing happened.   
He pushed himself up, climbing up gracefully off the bed. The uniform was still mostly ironed, a few fresh creases folded into the shirt from his manhandling. He laid it out on the bed, groaning internally. He dressed quickly, trying not to think about the fact that he was in the same underwear he had worn the day before. When he was fully dressed, he couldn’t help but laugh. He swam in Cullen’s too-big blazer, and the pants flooded over his feet. He rolled up the cuffs of the pants, tucking his shirt in and doing up the blazer, as if it would make a difference.   
The kitchen smelled good, the aroma of butter and syrup waiting around the air. Dorian wandered in, smiling at the sight of Cullen at the counter, sleeves pushed up, flipping pancakes. He cleared his throat, catching his friend’s attention, doing a small spin.   
Cullen laughed, “you look ridiculous.”  
“It’s not my fault you’re overly large,” Dorian sniffed. He sat himself down at the counter, shoving the silly sleeves up. They slid back down almost immediately, reaching his knuckles. He rested his chin on his steepled fingers, watching Cullen plate up. The food smelled divine, and the chef looked equally god-like. Dorian, stop.   
“Here,” Cullen said proudly, placing a heaped plate in front of Dorian, “bon appétit.”  
Dorian dug in eagerly, shuffling to the side to allow Cullen some room. Cullen sidled up beside him, digging into his own generous helping. The house was quiet, for which Dorian was thankful. He’d taken his time getting dressed, hoping to avoid the onslaught of noise that Cullen’s siblings brought. The two ate in amicable silence, their elbows brushing every so often, the slightest brush of fabric teasing at Dorian’s heart. He cleared his throat, taking another mouthful of fluffy, buttery pancake. He peeked at Cullen out of the corner of his eye, smiling at the soft blush in his cheeks. It made him look so sweet, like a cherub, all golden-haired and freckly. He pushed himself back, tugging at a yellow ringlet, dodging Cullen’s elbow as he grabbed the plates in front of him.   
“Hey.”  
He wandered over to the sink, filling it up with warm, soapy water. Cullen appeared at his side, trying to muscle his way. Dorian shoved him aside, pursing his lips in irritation.   
“What are you doing?” Cullen asked, crossing his arms.   
Dorian shrugged, taking off his blazer and dropping the plates into the water. He shoved up his sleeves, beginning to scrub the dishes, “you cooked, I’ll clean.”  
Cullen huffed, “you don’t have to do that.”  
“I know,” Dorian said, “I want to.” He started stacking plates onto the drying rack, grinning as Cullen moved to his other side, beginning to dry up the plates.  
“Thank you,” Cullen said, smiling, “I’ll finish putting these away, and you can go brush your teeth. There’s a new toothbrush under the sink.”  
Dorian dried off his hands, pulling his blazer back on. He began to walk out of the kitchen, stopping when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, finding Cullen hovering awkwardly near him, eyes on the floor.   
“Um,” Cullen toed the mat on the ground, flicking up the corner, “would you like to stay here? Indefinitely?”   
“What?”  
Cullen’s hand shot to the back of his throat, his eyes snapping to Dorian then back down again, “well… things seem toxic at your place… I wouldn’t feel right letting you go back there.” He sighed, stepping closer, forcing his eyes up, “Mia lives on campus in Denerim. At the moment her room is just spare. You could stay in there, for as long as you like.”  
Dorian blinked in surprise, “what will your parents say?”  
“They won’t mind,” Cullen replied, voice sure, “they like you.”  
Dorian could feel the emotion thickening his throat. Once again, Cullen had proved himself too good, and Dorian wondered what he had done to deserve such a friend. He rushed forwards, wrapping Cullen in a tight hug, “thank you.”

***

The school day passed quickly and uneventfully, and for that, Dorian was grateful. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes open during religion, Cullen also struggling to stay awake beside him. He was thankful that Therein had covered their history lesson that day, Rainier off on an excursion with his junior students. Therein wasn’t a fan of the Exalted Marches, so he lugged out the old television set, chucking on a documentary. Dorian had pulled his chair over to Cullen’s desk, laying his head on his friend’s shoulder whilst he ‘rested his eyes’.  
Dorian was anything but sleepy now, however, as he looked out the passenger window of Cullen’s car at his house.   
“I don’t need my stuff,” he insisted, folding his arms over his chest, “I can just wear your uniforms.”  
Cullen grimaced, squeezing Dorian’s arm, “c’mon. The sooner we do this, the sooner it’s over with.”   
“But-“  
“Do you really want another day with my,” Cullen sighed gesturing to his hair, “‘useless watery shit’ to style your hair?”  
Dorian groaned, conceding. He opened his door, sliding reluctantly out of the car. Though his parents were still not home, he wasn’t exactly keen to trap himself in the house. He turned back, looking expectantly at Cullen, “coming?”  
Cullen’s eyes opened wide, “really? I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”  
Dorian waved him away, “don’t be daft.” He strode towards the front door, huffing a quiet laugh at the sound of Cullen’s hurried footsteps, his friend appearing at his side. He pretended to fish the key out from the pot of crystal grace, pressing his fingers to the door and removing the lock charm. The door swung open, as welcoming as it could be, considering the pristine, barely-lived-in foyer. He breezed through, making his way to the staircase.  
“Woah.”  
He turned around, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. Cullen was staring, eyes agape, at giant family portrait on the wall. All three Pavus’ stared glumly outwards, Aquina’s hand like a claw on young Dorian’s shoulder. He grimaced, cursing his parents’ love of the ostentatious. He spun back around, hurrying up the staircase. He opened his door, heart dropping. His room was a mess; things had been thrown around everywhere. Drawers had been thrown open, his clothes yanked out and strewn across the floor. His papers had been screwed up, books bent awkwardly on the floor. A large scorch mark scarred his desk, the smooth polished oak ruined. He sighed, grabbing his duffel bag from his wardrobe, beginning to pack the clothing away.   
“Are you okay?”  
Dorian looked up, Cullen walking past him and dropping to his knees, helping collect up the clothing. He nodded, resting back on his heels, looking around the room, “I suppose this means my father noticed my absence.”   
They both jumped at the sound of the front door closing, the clicking of heels on tile deafening in the sudden deathly quiet.   
“Kaffas!” Dorian hissed, standing, “of all the times to be early…”  
Cullen grabbed his wrist, “should I hide?”  
“No. She knows you’re here already,” he rolled his eyes at Cullen’s unspoken question, “your truck, idiot. She’s not psychic.”   
Dorian’s mother appeared in the doorway, hip rested against the frame. Her eyes tightened as they roved over him, stopping for a moment on his cheek, “you’re home.”   
He shrugged, “not for long.” He turned his attention back to his things, continuing to pack, “I see Halward decided to redecorate.”  
“Mm. He noticed your absence,” Aquina spun on her heel, striding away. Dorian kept packing, aware of Cullen’s gaping mouth. He gave his friend a stern look, narrowing his eyes as Cullen flushed deep red. He pursed his lips, looking up as his mother came back.   
“Here,” his phone was in her hand, low battery light flashing slowly. Dorian reached out, cautiously taking it.   
“You’re helping me?”  
Aquina crossed her arms over her chest, eyes on the floor, “your father thinks… berating you will make you toe the line. Whilst I don’t necessarily approve…” her gaze flicked to Cullen, then to Dorian, “I would prefer not to lose my son. You’re the only Pavus I can stand.” She reached out, gently pulling Dorian up. She pressed her long, manicured fingers to his cheek, pulling them back when he winced. He expected reprimanding, but she surprised him by flinching. He glanced cautiously at her, his heart thudding uneasily at the sadness in her eyes.   
“He’ll never lay another hand on you,” she promised quietly, “or else he’ll have none left.” She gingerly pressed her palm to his cheek again, magic tickling the skin beneath her fingertips. Her groomed eyebrow arched in silent question. Dorian shook his head, stepping out of her grip. She grimaced, almost looking as if she’d teased up.   
She stepped back, rounding on Cullen, the blond visibly buckling beneath her gaze. She assessed him severely, narrowing her eyes, “look after my son.”  
Cullen nodded furiously, swallowing. She hummed to herself, sweeping out of the room without another word. Dorian couldn’t help giggle at the look of utter terror on Cullen’s face, the colour well and truly gone from his friend’s normally pink cheeks.   
They finished packing in silence, fitting as much as they could into the duffel. There were things that Dorian wished he could take with him, but the effort involved, he decided, was not worth it.   
“Come on,” Cullen murmured, shouldering the duffel, “let’s go.”  
Dorian led the way down the stairs, the house once again silent. He ducked his head into the lounge room, finding Aquina curled up on the ivory chaise lounge, large tome open on her lap and a glass of red perched amongst her beige nails. She looked up, giving Dorian a small, soft smile.   
“Please, call,” she asked quietly, “when you can.”  
He nodded, “I’ll try.”  
She flicked her fingers, opening the door discreetly, a small but thoughtful gesture. Dorian gave her a small wave, following Cullen out of the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

***

“Stan! Dinner!”  
Dorian pushed himself forwards from his seat against the wall, pausing the move that he and Cullen were watching. He turned to Cullen, grinning at the self-conscious flush of his cheeks. Dorian opened his mouth, but his friend shot him a sharp look.  
“Save it.”  
They wandered out, finding the entire Rutherford brood- sans Mia- sitting at their great dining table. Cullen pulled out a chair for Dorian, taking the one next to him. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, anxiety quickly settling in his chest. He kept his eyes down, hands tucked in his lap. Cullen reached forwards, serving them both, heaping a generous portion onto Dorian’s plate. The stir fry smelled good, garlic and plum making Dorian’s nose sting pleasantly.   
“Dorian?”  
He glanced up, making eye contact with Fergus. He was smiling over at him, dark brown eyes crinkled in the corners. He flicked his salt and pepper plait over his shoulder, leaning forwards, “thank you for coming.”  
Dorian nodded, returning the smile weakly, his cheeks growing hot, “thank you for having me.”  
Ellen patted Fergus’ forearm, picking up her fork, “let’s eat.”  
It was new to Dorian for there to be conversation during a meal, but it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. He listened as the Rutherford family chattered, eating quietly. He smiled as Bran went on about his upcoming swimming carnival, assuring Cullen that he would beat him if they ever competed with each other. Ellen had to swiftly end the discussion before it grew too heated, the smug grin on Cullen’s face telling Dorian that he was deliberately baiting Bran. They all listened patiently as Rosalie babbled about her day, telling them about how worried she was for the Year 5 Spelling Bee, but that she was preparing extra hard for it. Dorian couldn’t help the spike of envy when Ellen discussed their upcoming trip, asking Fergus if his mother would be joining them on the farm. He couldn’t remember the last trip he’d taken with his parents; most of his holidays had involved him heading off somewhere abroad with an au pair.   
“What about you, Dorian?”   
Dorian jumped, pulled back into the present, finding Ellen looking at him expectantly, “pardon?”  
Ellen gave him a soft smile, “how are you liking Ferelden? Cullen said that you only moved this year.”  
“I did,” Dorian brushed his hair back, folding his hands neatly on the table in front of him, “it’s nice here. A bit cold.”  
Bran leaned forwards, squinting, “where are you from?”  
“Branson!”  
Dorian waved it off with a small smile, “I’m from Tevinter. In the North.”  
Bran’s eyes opened wide, “that’s the country run by mages, right?” Dorian nodded, and Bran’s eyes grew wider, “woah…” he looked down at his empty plate, then back up and Dorian, “are you a mage?”  
Dorian sucked in a gasp, “um.”  
“Are you wearing makeup?”  
Dorian looked over at Rosalie, who had been staring at him from across the table the whole time he spoke. He grinned, nodding.   
Rosalie screwed up her nose, tilting her head to the side, golden ringlets bouncing off her shoulders, “but make up is for girls.”  
Ellen looked mortified, but Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. He rested his chin against his steepled fingers, “no, it isn’t.”  
“Maker’s breath, Rosie,” Ellen ran a hand over her face. Rosalie didn’t pay her any mind, instead continuing to scrutinise Dorian’s face, her small nose pinched.   
“Can you teach me how to do it?”  
Dorian smirked, “of course.”  
Once everyone was finished, Dorian helped clear the table, drying dishes and putting them aside whilst Cullen dried them, despite protest on Cullen’s behalf. They worked comfortably together, though Dorian was stumped when he tried to put it all away, not realising just how many cupboards were in Cullen’s kitchen until he attempted to find the glass cupboard. Eventually Fergus came to his rescue, stepping in and packing away what was left.   
As the pair went to retreat into Cullen’s room, Fergus caught Dorian’s arm, grip gentle around his bicep. Dorian swallowed the yelp that burst into his mouth, gently withdrawing from Fergus’s grasp as he turned.   
“I just wanted to let you know,” Fergus’ low voice was gruff, his eyes sincere when they met Dorian’s, “you can stay here as long as you’d like. This is your home for however long you need.” He paused, hesitating for a moment before his face set, dark eyebrows furrowed. He gestured to Dorian’s cheek, “El has some ointments. May help that heal. Just let her know.”   
Dorian reached up and touched his cheek, feeling blood pool hotly under the flesh. He’d thought his concealer trick had worked; apparently not as well as he had imagined. He swallowed the lump in his throat, “thank you.”  
Fergus shrugged, “s’no worry. Just want to keep you safe.” He have a final nod, clapping Dorian on the shoulder before retreating, disappearing into the lounge room.   
Dorian wandered into Cullen’s room, sitting heavily on the bed. Cullen looked up from his desk, giving him a soft smile, “what did Da want to talk to you about?”  
Before he realised what he was happening, tears welled up in Dorian’s eyes, streaking down his cheeks. He pulled his knees up, tucking his face into them, gripping his legs tight. He was jostled as Cullen sat beside him, collapsing into his friend’s warm embrace.   
“Hey,” Cullen hushed, “what’s wrong?”   
Dorian wiped his eyes, refusing to lift his head, makeup smeared on his sleeve, “I don’t deserve this. You’re all so nice and I don’t deserve it.”   
Cullen hushed him, pulling him closer. Dorian closed his eyes, shoulders shuddering as he continued to sob, slowly being soothed by Cullen’s gentle rocking. After a few minutes he calmed, feeling wholly embarrassed, refusing to lift his face from Cullen’s tear soaked shirt.   
Cullen raked an absent finger through Dorian’s hair, gingerly tilting his friend’s face up, “do you want me to set up Mia’s room tonight? Or do you want to stay in here again?”  
Dorian sniffled, sneakily wiping his nose on his sleeve, “in here.”  
Cullen gave him the sweetest of smiles, pulling him back in for another hug. Dorian closed his eyes, letting himself grow limp in Cullen’s arms. For the first time in a long time, perhaps longer than he could remember, he felt safe.

 


	9. Patience Runs Thin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course one of the shortest chapters in this fic takes months to write. SOrry for the delay, but I’m giving up the act. I am a slow-arse writer, and I can’t fix it.
> 
> That said, I’ll be keeping this fic up. I’ve got it planned to the end, and I hope you’ll all stick around to see how it wraps up.
> 
> Thanks for reading; I love all of you and thank you for your continued feedback.

Time passes quickly in good company, and Dorian found himself in excellent company at Cullen’s house, two weeks zipping by in the blink of an eye. The term was winding down, though stress was ramping up with exams rapidly approaching, their shadow looming closer over their heads. Dorian’s phone had finally stopped ringing, his father seeming to have gotten the hint- to an extent- after the number of missed calls from him hit triple digits.   
Over the fortnight, Cullen and Dorian had settled into a comfortable afternoon routine. Dorian would hang back after the final school bell rang, grumbling as he waited for Trevelyan to finish her grotesque public display of affection. Then, he would climb into Cullen’s car and they would head to the grocery store, picking up snacks for the afternoon. They’d roll into the driveway of Cullen’s house before everyone else, huddling up in the bedroom to study until dinner.   
That was where they found themselves, sequestered away, surrounded by books. Dorian was leant against the wall, with Cullen’s legs across his lap. Dorian stayed as still as possible, aside from the turning the pages of his book, for fear that Cullen would move. They hadn’t talked about Dorian’s melt-down two weeks earlier, and for that Dorian was thankful.   
He flicked through the pages of his textbook, groaning as he realised the topic he was searching for wasn’t in it. He leafed through another one, tossing it away when it, too, yielded nothing. As he pawed through his pile of books, he remembered which one he was looking for, Advanced Mathematics for Inquisitive Minds, which was exactly where he left it. On his bedside table. In his bedroom. He pursed his lips in annoyance, pulling out his phone.

To: Felix  
From: 0403056799

I m so fkn bored. Help

6:13PM

He hit send, dropping his phone on his lap, looking over at Cullen. His blond friend looked deep in concentration, his pen sprinting across the page, dark brows furrowed. He peeked at Cullen’s page, grimacing at the thousands of scrawled quotes. Literature was a blighted mess of a subject.  
His phone buzzed and he snatched it up, rolling his eyes at Felix’s lewd response.

From: Felix  
To: 0403056799

Have some fun with your Ferelden boy toy ;)

6:18PM

He couldn’t help the slight huff of amusement, tapping out a quick response.

To: Felix  
From: 0403056799

I thought I ws the 1 w a penchant 4 men. He has a gf

6:18PM

He hit send, staring at the screen for a moment before shooting off a small addendum.

To: Felix  
From: 0403056799

And I have a ril. Corrupt some1 else w ur adultery

6:20PM

Dorian had barely had a chance to glance at Felix’s response when, on cue, a message from Rilienus made its presence known with a quick buzz. Dorian felt his heart almost stop in surprise, butterflies fluttering thick in his stomach. He opened it, feeling blood rush simultaneously up to his cheeks and downwards.

From: Ril <3

To: 0403056799

Good luck with your exams. A little something to help you make it through ;)

6:23PM

Attached was a gratuitous photo of Rilienus, posed in front of his bedroom mirror. His long, bronze body uninterrupted from his head to his feet, inky hair rolling in soft waves to his chest. His face was covered by his phone, only his thick, arched eyebrows visible over the top. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, that bothered Dorian, but most of his attention was taken by the strong ridges of Rilienus’ hips, their perfect angle leading to-  
He shuffled uncomfortably, discreetly sliding a textbook over his lap. Every detail was exactly as he remembered it. The slight indent in the side of Rilienus’ thigh. The gentle curve of his collarbones. The delicate tattoo that adorned his ribs. Even the faint cluster of freckles on his chest. Dorian grinned, feeling as if his heart was up in his throat.   
“That doesn’t look like studying. What’s so interesting?”  
Dorian jumped at the sudden reminder that he was decidedly not alone. He slammed his phone to his chest, but the look on Cullen’s face told him he’d been too slow. Cullen blinked, a slight frown on his face as he leant back. Dorian wasn’t sure which of them was blushing more, both of their cheeks flushed; Cullen’s bearing more resemblance to a tomato than anything.  
They both sat in silence for a long, awkward moment, neither of them looking at each other. Dorian was desperate to send a response to Rilienus, but the picture was still up, and he doubted Cullen wanted to see the textbook on his lap… levitate.   
“Dinner!”  
Blessed be the Maker. The pair shot up, avoiding eye contact as they fumbled by the doorway. Finally Cullen stepped back and Dorian shot out, rushing into the kitchen to help Ellen set the table. He grabbed a few plates, setting them out and then taking his seat next to Cullen, both of them looking straight ahead. The rest of the family filtered in around them, sitting in their usual places. Finally Ellen came to the table, taking her seat at the head, opposite Fergus.   
“How’s the studying going, boys?”  
Dorian shot a sheepish look at Cullen, making awkward eye contact. He snorted, both of them dissolving into giggles.

***

The student body of Our Lady Andraste stood idly outside of the school chantry, impatient as they waited for the “special presentation”. Dorian sat on the brickwork garden retainer, enjoying the midday sunlight. His gaze rest upon Cullen, some ten feet away, his choir-gown-clad girlfriend swinging coyly off his arm. Dorian was almost thankful to have a reprieve from Cullen’s endless teasing; his badly timed picture had been particularly inspirational, it seemed. He had been the butt of Cullen’s jokes ever since dinner had ended the night before.   
“How does it sound?”  
Dorian turned lazily, meeting Aveline’s anxious gaze. She held a stack of papers in her hands, crumpled for how many times she had read and reread them. Her normally immaculate red hair was just a little frizzy. He smiled kindly at her, “it sounds great. Your speech is going to be amazing.”  
She smiled half-heartedly, running a freckled hand over her rapidly unravelling braid.   
Dorian turned back to watching Cullen, grimacing as Trevelyan pulled him down into a particularly zealous kiss.   
“Disgusting.”   
Cassandra stood beside him, her mouth turned in an equally disgruntled frown, “I don’t understand how one girl can be so repulsive. Nor what he possibly sees in her.”  
Dorian chuckled, “mm. She’s repugnant.” He turned to Cassandra, resting a hand on his hip, “since when do you voluntarily talk to me?”  
She shrugged, “since Aveline is otherwise occupied, and they decided they did not want the sports captain to deliver a speech.”  
“Is that jealousy?”  
That earned him a sharp look, “of course not. I’m just at a loss as to why they would not want me to speak. We had an excellent season,” she huffed, “but I suppose such things are not nearly as important as dance performances.” She wrinkled her nose, huffing quietly.   
“No,” Dorian smirked, “we must give Trevelyan a chance to stroke her own engorged ego.”  
Cassandra snorted, poorly hiding her smile. Dorian grinned, “perhaps I’m growing on you.”  
“Perhaps,” she repeated, monotonous, “much like a wart. Or a tumor.” Her face looked stoic, but Dorian could see the gentle crinkle of her dark eyes. He snorted, “someday, I’ll be downgraded to a mole.”

***

Much of the school assembly passed in a blur. Dorian paid attention to anything but what was on stage; counting the number of bricks on the wall by the left wing, seeing how many times he could recite the Magesterium roster, watching the way the light played off the small flecks of ginger in Cullen’s golden hair. It wasn’t until the special guest was introduced that Dorian found himself interested.   
Madame de Fer cast a striking figure as she strode across the stage. Her tailored suit clung close to her trim frame, the ivory colour stark against her deep skin tone. She walked confidently, every step calculated and graceful, her heeled shoes clicking across the floor. She took her place at the lectern, looking particularly formidable, her two Templar bodyguards- or were they chaperones?- intimidating in their uniforms.   
“Good afternoon, students,” she began, her voice firm and authoritative, “and thank you for inviting me to speak on this historical day.”  
Dorian turned to Cassandra, who looked almost asleep beside him, “what’s today?”  
She gave him a bland look, “Hero of Ferelden Day.”  
“I am grateful,” Madame de Fer continued, “that I may have this opportunity to speak to you about an issue that connects the Hero to the plight that we continue to face in the modern day. And that,” she pursed her lips, levelling a hard look at her audience, “is the continued fallacies that surround Circles and the mages that reside within them.”  
A low murmur filtered through the crowd, silenced quickly by the sharp glares of the teachers and Sisters.   
Madame de Fer nodded, “I understand your trepidation. Magic is both a tool, and a weapon. One which, if in the hands of the untrained- as if so often is- can cause chaos. Ferelden has faced much hardship at the hands of magic, and Kinloch serves as a grisly reminder of what happens if such power goes unchecked.  
That being said, it is imperative that magic be examined and thoroughly understood. Magic  
is not to be feared, but respected. The Circles serve as both a reminder of that, and a system to maintain the tenuous balance between stability and unbridled anarchy .”  
Dorian felt himself bristle, running his tongue over his teeth. There stood First Enchantress Vivienne, the Woman of Iron, parroting the Chantry propaganda that Dorian had heard tittering of across Imperium dinner tables. Cassandra sighed beside him, crossing her arms over her chest.  
“Bored?”   
She shrugged, “it’s the same speech every year; equal parts patronising and fear-mongering.”  
Dorian raised his eyebrows in surprise, “I’d have thought you had a similar mindset.”  
“Ugh,” she sneered, “Templars are glorified babysitters. They know nothing of the responsibilities that the Seekers are beholden to.”  
“Huh.”  
She chewed her lip, “what?”  
“Oh, nothing,” Dorian said with a small shrug, “just wondering what Cullen would think of your view of Templars.”  
Her eyes widened, “he…?”  
Dorian just shrugged again. Cassandra blushed, ducking her head. He chuckled quietly, tuning his attention back to Madame de Fer, who was still ruler straight before the audience.   
“… are no longer towers situated at the edge of the world. Circles are now functional communities; they have schools, hospitals, shopping centres. The mage rebellion of Dragon changed much for the mages, but also served as a warning; mages hold power that potentially poses great danger to non-magic society. Segregation may seem cruel, but the standards are far superior to what our ancestors faced. The Denerim Circle boasts its own University.”  
Dorian felt his temper flare. He shifted in his seat, fingering the hem of his blazer.   
“Many call Circles a ‘necessary evil’. I believe that, though they are indeed, necessary, they are far from evil.”  
He let out a sharp, breathy laugh, easing himself out of his seat. He began walking towards the aisle, dismissing Cassandra’s curiosity with a simple, “bathroom.” He offered the same explanation to Theirin, who was standing at the door to the East Wing exit. Theirin nodded, boredom clear on his stubbly face, handing Dorian a bathroom pass.   
Fuming, Dorian hurried to his classroom, thanking the Maker that Tethras was forgetful, and the door was unlocked. Snippets of Madame de Fer’s speech playing over in his head, he grabbed his bag, barely noticing the pain as it slammed between his shoulder blades, anger bubbling in his gut. He strode out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind him, the slam just slightly satisfactory. Temper refusing to subside, and with little consideration of possible consequences, Dorian left, walking purposefully out the front gates.

***

It was a good few hours before Dorian was found, curled up on Cullen’s bed, a book laid open in front of him.   
“There you are,” Cullen sighed, closing the bedroom door behind him, “thanks for letting me know you left.”  
Dorian ignored him, determinedly keeping his eyes on the book, turning the page. He heard Cullen huff, the bed jostling as he sat down. Pursing his lips in irritation, Dorian shifted away, lifting the book to hide his face. Cullen reached up, tugging down the top of the book, “didn’t feel like maybe texting me?”   
“No,” Dorian yanked away, putting his knees up.  
Cullen gently pulled the book from Dorian’s hands, setting it down beside him, “are you okay?”  
Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to glare at Cullen, “I’m fine.”  
“Sorry to say this, but I find that difficult to believe.”  
“Believe what you will,” he snapped. He clasped his hands over his knees, fingers twitching with agitation. Without the book, Dorian found his attention once again snatched by snippets of Madame de Fer’s speech, her voice echoing incessantly in his head. “It’s just that presentation,” he growled, pushing himself up, “watching her spread that utter bullshit!” He rounded on Cullen, “how could Circles ever be considered humane? No matter how many amenities they boast, it’s still imprisonment!”   
Dorian rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing his eyes, “she has so much power, yet she chooses to enforce the very laws that confine her people. It’s disgusting.”  
The bed creaked as Cullen moved, Dorian jumping at the feeling of a hand curling around his wrist. His hand was gently tugged away from his eyes, Cullen’s worried face inches from his nose. He took a deep breath, walking back a half step.   
“Forgive me, if this sounds insensitive,” Cullen began carefully, his fingers still wrapped around Dorian’s fine wrist, “but… why do you care so much? It’s horrible, yes, that much you’ve at least begun to teach me. But this almost seems… personal for you.”  
The moment of truth. A million thoughts raced through Dorian’s head, his heart thundering as he considered the gravity of what he was about to do. He eased himself out of Cullen’s grip, subtly moving himself toward the door.   
“Cullen,” he took a deep, steadying breath, “I’m a mage.”  
Cullen visibly blanched, his eyes going wide, “what?”  
Dorian gritted his teeth, taking a step back, “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. It’s just-“  
“But you’re not scary,” Cullen blurted out, some of the colour returning to his cheeks.  
Dorian couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him, he smacked his hand to his mouth sheepishly, trying to regain his composure, “you’re scared of mages?”  
Blood flooded into Cullen’s cheeks, painting them, “well,” he snapped, defensive, “I’ve never met one.”  
“Never met one?” Dorian smirked, “you’re best friends with one.”  
The smile that took over Cullen’s face was truly breathtaking. Dorian felt his breath catch for a moment, warmth travelling up his throat and into his cheeks. He ducked his head, moving past Cullen and plopping himself onto the bed, letting out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.   
Cullen slowly shuffled over, sitting down beside him, “I’m your best friend?”  
Dorian grinned, “of course you are, daft boy.”  
“So,”Cullen said, still smiling, “does that mean you’re technically an apostate?”  
“Mm, sounds so dashing, doesn’t it?”  
Cullen chuckled, “what about demons?”  
Dorian waggled his dark eyebrows, “I’ve seen them,” he said, “fought them off in my dreams. They’re not half as clever as they think they are.”  
“Woah,” Cullen looked in awe, mouth agape.  
Dorian shrugged, nonchalant, trying to hide his smile, “it’s a common occurrence; you just have to be vigilant.”  
Cullen nodded, gaze in the distance. He fiddled his hands in his lap, something obviously playing on his mind. He ducked his head, blush pooling in his cheeks again.  
“What is it?”  
“Well,” Cullen chewed on his lip, refusing to meet Dorian’s eyes, “I was wondering if you could maybe… show me some magic?”  
Dorian’s heart pounded. He perched himself on his knees, beaming widely, “of course.”  
Cullen’s head snapped around, eyes glued on Dorian’s cupped hands. Carefully, Dorian conjured a small flame, its light making his hands glow. Cullen watched in fascination, the tip of the flame reflected in his wide, golden eyes. He reached toward the fire, and Dorian yanked his hands back with a hiss, the flame quashed between his palms.   
“What are you doing?”  
Cullen blinked in shock, fingers still outstretched, “I wanted to touch it.”  
“Why?” Dorian was incredulous, “would you touch a candle, idiot?”  
“I,” Cullen squeaked, “I thought it wouldn’t be hot.”  
Dorian cackled, leaning back against the wall, “you oaf.” He cupped his hands in front of him again, conjuring a small wisp of light, letting it dance about his fingertips. Cullen slowly reached out, flinching slightly as Dorian pushed the wisp gently into Cullen’s hand.  
Soft light roved over Cullen’s face, following the delicate movements of the wisp. Dorian found himself staring at Cullen’s stunned expression, rapt as he watched those bright eyes follow the wisp’s graceful dance. He took a deep breath, tearing his gaze away, the wisp slowly dissolving into nothing.   
“So,” he began quietly, voice wavering slightly, “it doesn’t bother you?” He started as Cullen pulled him into a tight hug, letting himself relax as he was pulled firmly against his friend’s firm chest.  
“Not at all,” came Cullen’s warm reply, voice rumbling, “you’re my friend, no matter what.”

 


End file.
